


The Music of the Soul

by Love_all_the_fandoms



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Castiel/Sam Winchester First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Soulless!Sam, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-08-16 16:32:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 34,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8109622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Love_all_the_fandoms/pseuds/Love_all_the_fandoms
Summary: Sam has arrived back from Hell, the only problem is he's returned without his soul. Before Cas realizes that something is horribly wrong with his friend Sam acts on his long-held feelings for the angel, damaging the trust between them, possibly beyond repair.When Sam’s soul is returned he has no memory of what has happened between them. What he discovers about his time without a soul is shocking, and he struggles to earn Cas’s forgiveness, and to forgive himself.





	1. Desecration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place after Sam is returned from Hell, but before Dean discovers his brother is back. i.e. between seasons 5 and 6. I’m going to include bits and pieces from season 6 into the story, but overall expect major canon divergence!  
> Warning: A serious non-con vibe exists in this chapter, although the fic won’t earn its ‘explicit’ rating until later. Nevertheless, be warned!

Sam lay in bed, his eyes closed, but not sleeping. He hadn’t slept since he’d returned from Hell. Deep down he knew he ought to be worried about that, but somehow he just couldn’t bring himself to care. Instead he lay in bed, replaying his latest hunt in his mind, looking for ways to improve his strategy.

Sam knew whatever had happened to him in Hell had made him a better hunter than ever before; more ruthless, more cunning, more able to anticipate the next move of his prey. The thought that he might now be a better hunter than his father or brother had ever been made him smile a small, bitter smile.

Eventually Sam got bored of the internal review and got up to make himself a coffee and sit in front of the laptop, trawling for anything unusual that might indicate another monster that needed ganking. If Sam had retained any self-awareness he would have realized that his actions over the last year were something akin to an addict itching for their next fix, except instead of drugs Sam’s needs now revolved around violence and sex.

And, true to form, after sating his lust for violence by planning his next kill, the hunter’s mind turned inevitably to Castiel.

Sam remembered the feelings he used to have for Cas, the heart-pounding, sweaty-palmed, deep and desperate longing. He vividly remembered staring at the angel, unable to tear his eyes away, his jealousy of the bond his brother and the angel shared bordering on insanity. He remembered the nights spent awake, tossing and turning as he fantasized about something he knew he could never have, would never deserve.

Yes, Sam had a very clear memory of those feelings…but that’s all it was, a memory. Try as he might, he couldn’t recreate that painful joy inside himself, couldn’t recall why the angel’s happiness had meant so much more to him than his own.

Sam knew he no longer loved Castiel. But, considering the reaction of his body whenever he thought about the angel, he sure as hell still lusted after him.

Sam leaned back in his chair, imagining the angel showing up in a flutter of wings, his piercing blue eyes black with desire as he stalked forward, pinning the hunter to the chair. He pictured reaching up and tearing at Cas’s shirt until buttons flew everywhere and he finally got a glimpse of the skin the angel kept hidden under all those layers. He imagined Cas’s countenance turning from shy desire to unbridled lust as he straddled Sam’s hips, his mouth reaching down to capture Sam’s own.

“Cas,” he whispered, his hand moving without conscious thought towards the suddenly hard bulge in his pants.

“Still got it bad for the feathered pretty boy then?” Crowley asked with a smirk, leaning against the wall by the door. Sam let out an undignified yelp and leapt out of his chair, leveling a look at the King of Hell that could have melted solid steel.

“What the hell do you want?” Sam growled, hastily straightening his clothes.

“Looks like I hit a nerve,” Cowley grinned, pushing off the wall and wandering over to the table, where a bottle of alcohol sat. Crowley picked it up and poured himself a drink, ignoring the hunter as he composed himself.

“Help yourself,” Sam said grouchily, reaching over and grabbing the bottle out of the demon’s hands.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Crowley murmured, taking a tentative sip from the tumbler and wincing. He held the amber liquid up to the light and raised an eyebrow. “What is this? Vinegar? Have you no taste buds, Moose?”

“I’m a bit short on funds,” Sam said sourly. “If you don’t like it, don’t drink it.”

Crowley put the tumbler down gingerly, like it contained nuclear waste instead of alcohol of questionable origin, and turned back to the hunter. “It’s our mutual acquaintance that brings me here, actually,” he said, all trace of amusement gone. “Do you know what’s happening in Heaven, Gigantor?”

“No?” Sam said disinterestedly, defiantly pouring himself a drink and taking a sip. He barely disguised a wince, it really was the worst kind of rot gut, but he wasn’t going to give Crowley the satisfaction of agreeing with him.

“Nobody does,” Crowley said with a grimace. “All we know is, it’s bad. Now, I’ve tried calling Wonderboy, but he clearly doesn’t want to sully his halo'd self by talking to me. But, for you, he would almost certainly show.”

“I doubt that,” Sam muttered, taking another long sip of what he was now pretty sure was metho with a different label.

Crowley watched him take the sip with a mildly disgusted look. “Well, _I_ think he’ll show. And what’s more, I think he’ll tell one of his precious Winchester boys what he won’t tell me.”

“For Dean, he might,” Sam said, the old bitterness raising its head for a brief moment. “They have the ‘profound bond’ after all.”

“I think you’d be surprised,” Crowley muttered, just low enough that Sam knew he hadn’t been meant to hear. Louder Crowley continued “I’m prepared to pay for the information, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“How much?” Sam asked instantly, and Crowley’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline.

“That’s it?” the demon asked, looking nonplussed. “No questioning my motives? No protests that you won’t spy on your friend for a demon? Just, ‘how much’?”

Sam shrugged. “What can I say, I need the money. Clearly,” he added, waving a hand at the bottle of unidentifiable liquid.

“No agonizing? No moralizing? No guilt?” Crowley persisted, looking at Sam with a calculating look that the hunter didn’t care for at all.

“Would it make you feel more comfortable?” Sam asked with a sigh. “Fine. Oh no, I could never spy on Cas for a demon. That would be wrong.”

Crowley shifted, looking uncertain for the first time Sam had ever seen. His eyes took on the unfocused look that Sam knew well from watching Cas; it was the expression the immortals got when looking beyond a meat suit to the spirit within.

“I’m not a shape-shifter, or a demon, or whatever you’re thinking,” Sam snapped. “I’m just practical. The worst has happened. I’ve been to _Hell!_ What do I have to lose? Now, do you want my help or not?”

Crowley smirked, his mask back in place. “You know how to contact me. We’ll talk payment on delivery.” With that he clicked his fingers and was gone.

“Friggin demons,” Sam muttered, sniffing suspiciously at the drink in his hand before shrugging and taking another sip.

* * *

Crowley lounged on his throne, pretending to listen to his sycophants, but his mind was miles away. He knew what was happening in Heaven, had, in fact, played a role in the war himself. He’d gone up to the mortal world as much to check on the rumors about the hunter as to get information about Castiel, and in that respect it had turned out to be a very worthwhile little side trip.

He couldn’t be sure, but he now thought he knew something very interesting about the youngest Winchester. Something very interesting indeed.

* * *

Sam had tidied up the motel room, just to give his hands something to do while his mind raced. Something was up in Heaven, and Crowley wanted information. If he could get Castiel to play ball Sam knew he’d have a very strong bargaining chip with the King of Hell, which would be no bad thing. Not that he trusted Crowley, but Sam was sick of living like a rat in a cage. He looked around the tiny motel room, at the water-stained walls, the worn and dirty carpet, the hard and lumpy bed with the faded and stained bedspread. It was one of the worst places he’d ever stayed, and Sam had been to Hell.

After a few more minutes of stalling Sam sighed, stood in the middle of the room, closed his eyes, and began to pray.

“Cas…” Sam prayed, making sure to put exactly the right amount of trembling uncertainty into his prayer. “You know I wouldn’t normally ask, but Cas… I need to see you. Please?” Sam had no real hope that praying would work, when he’d first returned from Hell he’d prayed to the angel almost every day and received only silence in reply. But, if what Crowley had said about Heaven being in turmoil was true, maybe Cas would show. After all, Sam had been a tool in the machinations of Heaven before.

“Cas…” Sam tried again, trying to sound defeated. “Please answer. It’s about the angels…”

Sam didn’t need to look behind him to know that the angel had arrived. The air in the room took on an almost electric feel, and Sam felt his shoulder blades itch as Cas’s piercing eyes bored holes in his back.

“Sam?” Cas asked, his husky voice sending a jolt of pure lust straight down the hunter's spine. Sam gritted his teeth, annoyed by his body's betrayal. He quickly schooled his expression into one of concern, something he’d practiced often enough over the past year that the mask was nearly second nature to him, and turned around.

Cas looked exhausted, or at least as exhausted as a celestial being _could_ look. But it was Cas, so the flood of desire was as sudden as it was inevitable, and Sam felt his mask slipping, felt the inner hunger start to show through. Something dark stirred deep in his chest; it wasn't the brain-melting, body-searing, incomprehensible longing that had dogged his every waking moment from the instant the Boy with the Demon Blood had first met Castiel, the Angel of the Lord, but it was still undeniably powerful.

Remembering Cas’s hesitation in shaking the ‘abomination’s’ hand, Sam felt his eyes narrow. For the first time he allowed himself to openly admire the angel, knowing Cas wouldn’t recognize lust if it came up and slapped him in the face, and gradually felt a calm clarity settle over his thoughts. The primal part of his brain recognized the sensation instantly as the rush of the hunt.

The hunt had no room for fear, no room for guilt or moralizing. And, Sam suddenly realized, without those irksome feelings of remorse and shame holding him back, there was no reason not to act on his lustful thoughts.

No reason at all.

 

Castiel arrived in the motel room already flustered. At the sound of Sam’s voice he’d dropped everything, shocking himself with how fast he’d responded. After all, he was in the middle of a war, and if Raphael realized he was gone the archangel wouldn’t hesitate to initiate a swift and brutal strike. But, suddenly, that didn’t seem as important as finding out the reason for Sam’s call.

Cas had been very careful to stay well away from the brothers for the last year as the war played itself out, mainly because he didn’t trust himself not to involve them again, and after all they had given it would have been too cruel to ask them to give more. But the tone of defeat in Sam’s prayer had awakened a deep need to see his friend again, to look into his eyes and reassure himself that Sam was safe. It was baffling to the angel. When had he started having such _human_ thoughts?

Cas gazed at the familiar figure of his friend, the broad shoulders, the long and lanky form, the disheveled hair, and felt his heart twist in that familiar and inexplicable way that only seemed to happen around the youngest Winchester.

Then Sam turned to look at him, and Cas was immediately struck by a sense of _wrongness_. The look in Sam’s eyes, he’d seen that in demons, but never in his friend, whose soul was a pure as any he’d ever known. Then Sam’s face smoothed over and Cas wondered if he’d seen anything at all. After all, it had been a year since he’d walked among the humans, he was no longer sure he could read them well, if in fact he’d ever been able to.

“Cas,” Sam said smoothly, “Thanks for coming so fast.”

“What’s wrong, Sam?” Cas asked impatiently. “I’m busy.”

“I… I just wanted to see you, and make sure everything was all right,” Sam said defensively, fidgeting in that strange way humans did when they were embarrassed. “I haven’t seen you all year, and I was getting really worried.”

Cas softened his tone, unexpectedly warmed by his friend's concern. “I’m fine, Sam,” he lied. “Now, I have to go.”

“Wait!” Sam called out, stopping Cas the instant before he disappeared. The angel waited silently while the hunter collected his thoughts. "I was just wondering..." Sam started, then stopped, hesitating. Cas knew he should say something reassuring, encourage his friend to speak his mind, but he'd been gone too long, the human mannerisms he'd worked so hard to master were no longer natural to him. Sam cleared his throat and started again. “I’ve heard rumors… that something really terrible is happening in Heaven. Are you sure you’re ok? Is there... anything I can do?”

Cas smiled slightly at the thought of a mortal fighting in an angel war. He hesitated. What was the harm in telling Sam? He trusted the Winchesters, and Sam had already sacrificed so much, had proven himself beyond any doubt. He deserved to know the truth.

His decision made, Cas told Sam about the civil war in Heaven as succinctly as he could, glad to finally unburden himself. The younger Winchester was shocked, naturally, but Cas was even more shocked when Sam swiftly crossed the room and grabbed him in a rough hug.

“It’s so good to see you, Cas,” Sam said huskily, pulling the angel to him so tightly it was almost painful. "I'm so glad you're ok." Cas wasn’t sure how to respond, so he tentatively put his hands on Sam’s waist, and felt the hunter sigh against his neck, strands of his hair tickling the angel's ear.

“C’mon, Cas, you can do better than that,” Sam murmured, his hands tightening further, his voice holding a rough edge that the angel instinctively mistrusted, without quite knowing why. After a long moment of hesitation Cas tentatively moved his hands around Sam’s back, gingerly returning the hug, surprised by how pleasant the shift of hard muscle felt beneath his hands.

“That’s better,” Sam whispered, and Cas shivered involuntarily as the hunter’s lips brushed his neck, so lightly that Cas was sure it had been an accident. Sam shifted slightly in his embrace, and as he did so Cas saw the half-empty bottle on the table, and realized he could smell alcohol on his friend’s breath. He sighed internally. The tendency of humans to drink themselves into insensibility to avoid their problems had always baffled and alarmed the angel. He pulled back, now certain he knew what was wrong with his friend.

“Get some sleep, Sam,” Cas said gently. “You’ll feel better when the alcohol is out of your system.”

A look of annoyance flashed across Sam’s face, again so fast that Cas wasn’t sure he’d seen it at all. Sam reached out and grabbed his hand, and the angel stared down at the long fingers that now loosely held his. He thought about pulling away, but there was something oddly comforting about holding Sam’s hand, so he stayed where he was.

“I’ll go to bed, if you’ll stay with me?” Sam said with a small smile, his fingers tightening menacingly around Cas's own. Cas looked up, startled, to see Sam staring at him with a predatory look that chilled him to his very core.

Cas knew Sam didn’t remember his time in Hell, but it was now clear that whatever had happened there had changed him. Before Cas was not the boy he remembered, eager to please his brother and the angel, full of uncertainty and compassion, hope and righteousness. Instead a man stood in his place, a hard man, with a bitter twist to his mouth, and an insouciance that instinctively had the hairs on Cas’s neck standing up.

Cas had no real measuring stick to monitor human emotion, for all he knew people dramatically changed personality all the time. But something itched at the back of the angel’s consciousness, an emptiness in Sam’s voice and mannerisms where a bright and unquenchable spirit had once dwelt.

As Sam started to draw the angel close Cas shook his head, suddenly inexplicably frightened, and vanished, a sense of dark foreboding dogging his flight from the room.

 

Sam looked at his empty hand and cursed. He’d been so close, but he’d rushed it, too eager to get the angel into bed to gauge his mood. Sam had thought the angel’s naivety in the ways of the flesh would have made him an easy target, but clearly Cas had sensed something in his manner that had tipped him off to Sam’s less than altruistic intentions.

Sam knew intellectually that his old self would have been horrified to be the one to put that look in Cas’s eyes. But the person he was now was simply frustrated and angry. He knew he'd have to be more careful next time… and there would definitely be a next time.

Sam sat down on the bed and began to coldly calculate his next move, all thought of Crowley long forgotten.

* * *

 

The next time Sam called Cas the angel was meeting with others of the celestial host who had united against Raphael. He ignored the call for as long as he could, but eventually Sam’s desperate pleas for assistance got through his defenses and he was at his friend’s side between one breath and the next.

When he arrived it was to find Sam under siege from a host of vampires. Cas dispatched them with brutal efficiency, put his hand on Sam’s shoulder and had them back at the motel room before Sam could even blink.

 

“Thanks, Cas,” Sam said eventually, his head spinning from the sudden change in location.

“Are you hurt?” Cas asked in concern. Sam noticed with amusement that the angel was standing further away from him than was his usual way. If nothing else, at least their earlier interaction had cured the angel of his tendency to invade the Winchester’s personal space.

Sam shook his head. He’d deliberately baited the vampires in order to put himself in enough danger to get Cas’s attention. But he wasn’t suicidal, so he’d been prepared with a way out if Cas hadn’t showed, which after a few minutes of screaming his name Sam hadn’t been so sure he was going to.

Cas nodded, and Sam saw the minute tensing of the shoulders that signified the angel’s imminent departure. He took a deep breath. Time for an academy award winning performance.

“Cas, about the other day… I’m really sorry,” he said, putting on a contrite expression and running a hand through his hair in his old self’s unconscious gesture of embarrassment. He saw Cas start to relax, and smiled inwardly.

“I’m… I’m scared, Cas,” Sam added, putting a slight quaver into his voice. “I think going to Hell had more of an impact on me than I realized.” Sam’s inward smile turned into an inward gloating grin as he saw the look of compassion on Cas’s face, saw the release of tension in his shoulders, and the subtly more open body language that was as much an instinctive reaction of his vessel as it was of Cas himself.

“It’s ok, Sam,” Cas said, stepping closer, “I know it’s been hard for you. But we’ll work something out, I promise.”

Sam held himself still, he wasn’t going to rush things this time and risk the angel pulling his disappearing trick. Sam looked down at the floor, watching through his eyelashes as Cas came closer. His friend reached out to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, and Sam knew then that he’d won.

Then Cas tilted his head slightly to the side, a strange far-away look in his eyes. Sam silently cursed, recognizing the look as the one the angel got when someone was praying to him. And sure enough, with a rustle of wings that somehow managed to sound angry, Cas was gone.

 

“What do you want, Crowley?” Cas growled, appearing before the King of Hell in agitation, glaring at the summoning paraphernalia in front of the demon.

“Hello to you too, Thursday,” Crowley said with a smirk. “I would think you’d be a bit more grateful, considering what was about to happen in that motel room.” He thought for a moment. “Or maybe not, considering…”

“What?” Cas snapped, angry and confused. “Are you spying on me?”

“Yes, kitten,” Crowley purred. “Always. But that’s beside the point. The point being, of course, a certain hunter, who is no longer who he appears to be.”

Cas stared at Crowley, feeling a sudden sinking dread in the pit of his stomach.

“Tell me.”

* * *

Cas flew back to Sam's side as soon as he could, aware that if Crowley was right the implications were catastrophic, not only for Cas but also for Dean, and most of all for Sam himself. When he appeared back in the motel room Sam was just pulling on the thin cotton clothes he wore to bed, clearly getting ready to turn in for the night. Cas hadn't planned it that way, but he couldn't have chosen a better moment; the mundanity of the task had lulled Sam into a sense of security, his mind obviously miles away. In that moment of vulnerability Cas could see past the mask Sam had been presenting to the world, and he stared deeply into those empty eyes, trying desperately to find any trace of his friend in their depths.

As he did so the angel suddenly realized how much he’d come to admire the younger Winchester after their disastrous first meeting. And now that Cas knew what to look for he realized that Crowley was right. This was no longer the Sam Cas knew, the Sam who was kind, and loyal, and compassionate. The Sam who had given his soul to save the world. This Sam, this imposter, was a pale shadow, all hard lines and emptiness.

Crowley’s reasoning for Sam’s transformation made a horrifying kind of sense, but it was such an unbearable thought that Cas could hardly bring himself to think about it. It made his stomach, which should have been impervious to nausea, roil and cramp uncomfortably. But now, seeing the _lack_ of something inside his friend, Cas was forced to admit the awful truth to himself.

Facing his friend in that moment Cas was sharply reminded of a time long before he'd met the Winchesters, a time before he had really realized what a human soul was capable of.

 *************************

Before rescuing Dean from Hell, Castiel hadn’t had much cause to interact with the humans. He’d watched over them of course, all the angels had, but he’d rarely spent any time on Earth among them. One of the rare times he had done so was with Balthazar, one of the angels who walked among the humans the most often.

On this particular occasion Castiel and Balthazar had sat on the railing of a ship called the Titanic, watching as it hurtled towards its doom. Cas had found the resulting chaos and confusion difficult to watch, but Balthazar had held him back, not allowing him to interfere in the destiny of the ship or the souls on board. As Cas had continued to squirm, wanting to do something… _anything_ … to help, his brother had finally allowed him to rescue the ship’s cat, who had been rightfully confused at being scooped up and held by an invisible being.

As the last of the lifeboats were lowered from the doomed vessel Cas had watched, uncomprehending, as the remaining men stood on the deck, singing as their unsinkable ship slipped below the waves, taking with it their hopes and dreams, their lives and loves.

_Abide with me, fast falls the eventide;_

_The darkness deepens; Lord with me abide._

_When other helpers fail and comforts flee,_

_Help of the helpless, O abide with me._

“Why do they sing?” he had asked eventually.

“They sing to be strong for their families. They sing to show they aren’t afraid, and to bring dignity to their deaths,” Balthazar had replied, scratching the confused ginger tom under the chin absently. “They sing because they are humans with courageous and noble souls.”

Cas had continued his silent vigil, and eventually his brother had sighed, a sound half exasperation, half bleak amusement.

“You don’t understand, do you?” he’d asked.

“No,” Castiel had replied, reluctantly.

“You’ve always been the baby of the family, little brother,” Balthazar had said, no hint of mockery in his tone. “But one day you’ll spend more time with the humans, and you’ll understand. You’ll understand then, Cassie.”

Cas had held the battered tom cat protectively to his chest as the ship sank beneath the waves, taking the brave humans with it, and he hadn’t understood. Not then. Now he did.

 *************************

Looking at Sam in that moment, Cas could see no trace of anything approaching the same humanity in his friend. But he still had to be certain, to decide if the demon’s theory was correct or if they were reading too much into the change in Sam, who could hardly have been expected to come back from Hell unscathed.

Cas knew what he had to do, but he found the idea of torturing Sam in that way utterly repugnant; the touch of an angel to the place where a human’s soul resided was enough to turn most mortals into gibbering madmen. The angel found himself surprised by his reticence, in the normal course of events he wouldn’t have hesitated to use such brutal measures, because the end always justified the means.

Then Sam started to move towards him, and the look in his eyes was enough to steel Cas’s resolve. He had to know. Cas was by Sam's side in a flash, pushing his friend gently, but inexorably, onto the bed, a move that took the hunter completely by surprise. Sam opened his mouth to say something, but Cas was too quick, too strong. Before Sam even got one word out Cas had plunged his hand into his friend, searching for the unmistakable feel of a human soul.

Cas knew the agonized scream that ripped from Sam’s throat would haunt him for the rest of his immortal existence. Grimly he kept going, trying to ignore the thrashing and howling as his friend desperately tried to get him to stop. Eventually he gave up. Crowley had been right, Sam no longer had a soul.

Cas looked down at his friend, at the lines of pain and suffering etched across his face, and felt completely overwhelmed by a wave of unidentifiable emotion. After a second of hesitation he knocked Sam unconscious, both to allow his friend time to rest and recover, and, if he was being completely honest with himself, to stop Sam staring at him with those wild, accusing eyes. That done he quickly left, landing in a park a few blocks away.

After a few minutes of staring blankly into space, trying and failing to block out the memory of Sam’s agonized scream, the angel sank slowly down onto a nearby bench, putting his head in his shaking hands. Feeling a strange sensation he pulled his hands away again, surprised to find them wet with tears.

For the first time in his millennia-long existence, Castiel wept.

* * *

 

Cas had ignored every plea, every imprecation, every threat from Sam since their last encounter. Several times Sam had pleaded in such a way as to cause Cas to waver in his resolve, but each time he had managed to hold back. But something was different about this time. Cas stopped in the act of summoning Crowley for a meeting and listened. _"Help... Cas... please..." _Sam's broken voice begged. Cas reached down the link created by the prayer and saw the hunter lying curled on the ground, heard the ragged gasp of panicked breathing. Blood, there was so much blood!__

Cas didn’t hesitate. In seconds he was at the hunter’s side, reaching out to heal him. As he did so Sam rolled out from under his touch, flicking something at Cas, who instinctively flinched back. But the burning match didn’t strike the angel, instead it hit a ring of oil around where Sam had been lying just moments before, beside a pool of something that was clearly blood... but not Sam's blood.

 

Cas stayed kneeling, staring at the fire as it rose up around him. When the angel eventually raised his head to stare at Sam there was a look of such profound betrayal in his eyes that the hunter knew his old self would have fallen instantly to his knees and begged forgiveness. But not anymore.

“What do you want, Sam Winchester?” Cas asked eventually, standing, his hands loose by his sides, his posture relaxed, only the burning pain in his eyes any indication that something was wrong.

“You think you can just show up, torture me, and leave without consequences?” Sam growled, watching in satisfaction as Cas flinched back from the venom in his words. “What did you do to me, Cas? I thought we were friends, but you’re just like your brother.”

Sam saw that barb hit home, and grinned savagely.

“Sam…” Cas started, so quietly that the hunter strained to hear him, “I’m so sorry. I had to know.”

“Know _what?_ ” Sam spat, contempt dripping from every syllable.

“Sam…” Cas sighed, looking away in a guilty gesture that sent an ominous chill skittering down the hunter’s spine, "haven't you wondered why you've been... different... since you came back?"

"I'm fine," Sam snapped, defensively. "If by 'different' you mean I've stopped allowing every immortal I meet to either use me or try to kill me, then you're right, I _am_ different. I've been to _Hell_ , Cas, and now I'm back I'm going to damn well enjoy myself! I'm _done_ sacrificing for the greater good. I'm so done." 

Sam paced up and down in agitation, feeling Cas's disapproval like a lead weight against his back. All the anger Sam had bottled up since his return suddenly bubbled to the surface, and he hurled words at the angel like they were weapons, sharp and deadly. "What would you know about it, anyway? I haven't seen you for over a year, Cas! I prayed to you when I came back, you know. Every. Damn. Day. You abandoned me, Castiel. No, worse. You _forsook_ me!"

The look on Cas's face should have made Sam feel ashamed of his outburst, but all he felt was grim satisfaction. He stopped pacing and just stared at the angel, his supposed friend, and felt something undefinable between them stretch to breaking point.

Sam wasn't sure how long they stood like that, but eventually Cas seemed to rally, and broke the silence.

"You're right, Sam," Cas said, his normally smooth voice rough with emotion, "I should have been there for you. I'm am Angel, I should have watched over you, protected you, like I was supposed to. I stayed away because I thought it was best for you. I was wrong. And I'm sorry. More sorry than you can ever know."

Sam started to speak, but stopped when Cas held up a commanding hand. The angel took a deep, unnecessary breath, and Sam instinctively steeled himself for bad news.

"I should have realized from the beginning, but I only confirmed it the day I... the day I tortured you. Sam... you don’t have a soul anymore. Your soul… it’s still in Hell.”

“My _what_ is _where?!_ ” Sam breathed, taken completely by surprise.

Cas just looked at him, a sadness in his eyes that should have broken Sam’s heart. The fact that Cas’s pain caused Sam no discomfort whatsoever brought home to him the truth of the angel’s words. He no longer had a soul. He no longer had to feel pain, or anguish, or guilt, or any of the other myriad negative emotions that his brother, and his father, and _Cas,_ had all inflicted upon him at one time or another.

Sam felt a small, feral smile tug at his lips, and saw Cas’s eyes widen in response. The angel looked at the ring of holy fire again, and back up at Sam, going completely still, like a rabbit caught in headlights.

“What do you _want_ , Sam?” Cas asked softly, an echo of his earlier question.

“What do I want?” Sam laughed bitterly. “There are _so many_ things I want. And I plan to have every single one of them." He slowly, lasciviously raked his eyes up and down Cas's trench-coat clad form, making sure even someone as naive as the angel couldn't miss his meaning.

Cas stared back at Sam, impassive, cold, and silent, which just aggravated the hunter further.

"You, Cas," Sam growled, "I want _you_."

“You’re not yourself, Sam,” Cas said at last, his voice as hard and unyielding as granite.

 “Wrong,” Sam said with a bitter laugh. “I’m more myself than I’ve ever been, now that I don’t have to worry about your approval anymore. Or Dean’s. Or anyone’s. I can finally do what I want to do, without a soul holding me back.”

Cas closed his eyes, and Sam was savagely pleased to have finally provoked a reaction from the angel.

“That’s not true,” Cas said in a whisper. “You’re just a collection of base impulses now. There’s no beauty, no joy, nothing _human_ in you.”

Sam stepped across the lowering ring of holy fire. “Nothing human?” he sneered. He grabbed Cas’s hand, and held it to his chest. “My heart is beating. My hands are warm. I’m human.”

“You’re still homo sapiens, yes,” Cas said, wearily, his hand unresponsive in Sam’s. “But you’re not human.”

“Neither are you,” Sam said, taking a step closer, his hand tightening on Cas’s in subtle warning.

“No, I’m not. You’d do well to remember that,” Cas said quietly, and if Sam had still had his soul he would have quailed at the glimpse of the ancient and terrifying being that looked out of Jimmy Novak’s eyes in that moment.

Instead, Sam stepped even closer, and pulled Cas to him, crushing his lips against the angel’s in a brutal kiss. His hands slid slowly, menacingly down Cas's arms, until he reached the angel's long-fingered hands, which he grabbed and placed on his waist, pushing his hips forward as he did so. Cas stayed as still and unresponsive as a statue, his hands sitting passively where Sam had placed them, only the warmth and almost imperceptible tremble under his fingers reassuring the hunter that the being in his arms was actually alive. He reached a hand up behind the angel's neck, holding him still as he tried, unsuccessfully, to open Cas's mouth with his own. Eventually he dropped his hands and stepped back, exasperated.

“Cas…” Sam growled in frustration, raking a hand through his hair.

“Sam,” Cas said, the warning clear in his tone. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.”

Sam ignored the threat and stepped forward defiantly, grabbing Cas’s trench coat in his hands, pushing it roughly off the angel’s shoulders. As it fell to the ground he reached out to start undoing Cas’s tie, still studiously avoiding the angel’s piercing blue eyes and expressionless face. The hunter shook his head, annoyed with Cas's continued resistance as he finally managed to remove the tie, dropping it to join the coat on the floor. After the smallest second of hesitation Sam finally looked up and met the angel's gaze, feeling a sudden deep, atavistic tremble shake him to his very core; the eyes he gazed into were no longer human.

“Just relax, Cas,” he finally whispered, trailing his fingers down the angel’s cheek. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“No,” Cas said, the alien wariness in his eyes changing to something infinitely sad. “You’re not.”

Sam took that as capitulation and smiled, reaching out to undo the top button of the angel’s shirt. Cas sighed, catching Sam’s hand in his own, using his other hand to reach up and caress the hunter's face. Sam leaned into the touch, triumph apparent in every line of his body, the gleeful smile still on his face as he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

Cas looked down at the young hunter and sighed again, surprised to notice his hands were shaking violently. He abruptly doubled over, struck by the sudden urge to vomit.       

Swiftly, brutally, he brought his vessel back under control, and bent down to move Sam away from the fire, arranging his limbs into something resembling comfort. Then he sat down beside the shell that had once been his friend, his knees drawn up protectively to his chest, and waited for the holy fire to die down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading guys! Sorry for being so mean to Cas and making Soulless!Sam such a jerk!


	2. Tribulation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on the timeline: This chapter skips forward in time to the middle of season 6. I’m including events from season 6 at the beginning of this chapter, but by the end the overarching canon storyline is completely out the window!

Since what Cas privately called ‘the incident’ he had avoided Sam like the proverbial plague, always checking to make sure Dean was around before appearing anywhere near the brothers. Sam hadn’t tried to trap or trick him again, had in fact not even acknowledged that anything had happened, but Cas knew that was due simply to a lack of opportunity than any real change of heart. And, after watching Sam’s ruthlessness on more than a few occasions, Cas acknowledged to himself that he’d been lucky. If Sam had figured out how to take his powers away completely their last encounter might have ended quite differently.

Since Dean had discovered Sam’s lack of a soul Cas had found being around the brothers easier; he no longer had to pretend everything was all right. But that was the only thing that was easier, because Dean was obsessed with restoring his brother’s soul, something Cas had begged, _pleaded_ almost on bended knee for Dean to reconsider, not because he didn’t want his friend back, but because Cas knew what his older brother was capable of. After over a century in Hell Sam’s soul would contain nothing more than howling, agonized madness. No one could withstand a hundred years of torture from the Devil himself and remain intact, not even someone as strong as Sam.

All of these thoughts preyed continuously on Cas’s mind, but what bothered the angel more than anything was the role he himself had played in this disaster. When Cas had been reassembled, after Sam had thrown himself into the Cage with Lucifer, the thought of Sam languishing in the Cage with his demented brother had been enough to drive the angel half mad with grief and rage. And so he had done the impossible, he’d gone to the Cage and rescued Sam, much as he had rescued Dean from the fires of Perdition. But, in his arrogance and hubris, he had left the most important part of Sam behind. His soul.

And now Dean Winchester had found a way to do what he, an Angel of the Lord, had been unable to; get Sam’s soul back. But Cas feared it was too little, too late.

Far too late.

 

Cas watched, invisible, as Sam struggled against the restraints in Bobby’s panic room. The aura of anger and fear radiating from his friend was so powerful that Cas found himself itching to reveal himself, to go to the hunter’s side and comfort him. Even after everything, the sight of Sam so scared and alone seared Cas to his very core.

When Death showed up, as Dean had requested, the Angel and the Horseman shared a long, knowing look. All three beings in the room knew the same thing, the one thing that Dean couldn’t, or wouldn’t, accept. That even if Sam didn’t die straight away he was likely to die slowly, the memories of his time in the Cage gradually eroding his sanity until there was nothing left but a shell.

Death was the first to break their silent communication, and, with a look that was close to shame, the Horseman bent over Sam, who thrashed and begged and tore at the restraints until his wrists were nearly pulled from their sockets. Cas closed his eyes when the radiant soul of Sam Winchester was lowered into his struggling body, feeling a treacherous tear slide slowly down his cheek as he silently begged his absent Father for a miracle.

           

A few minutes later Cas heard Dean calling his name, and managed to tear his gaze from Sam’s almost motionless body for long enough to make himself visible. Dean was as pale and drawn as Cas had ever seen him, and he found himself saddened by the lines of grief and worry etched in his friend’s face.

Cas knew that the time since Sam had gone to Hell had been hard for Dean in a way he could barely comprehend, but the angel found to his surprise that he was having trouble forgiving Dean for returning Sam’s damaged soul to his body, regardless of how clouded his friend’s judgement had been by his grief.

Cas knew that Dean assumed his brother would recover from his time in Hell the way Dean himself had eventually been able to. But the angel knew there were two key differences between Dean’s time in Hell and Sam’s. Firstly, Sam’s soul had been in Hell more than three times as long as Dean’s. Secondly, Sam had been the sole target of a very, _very_ angry Lucifer, and Cas had first-hand experience of what an archangel could do when provoked. And Lucifer was no ordinary archangel, even Gabriel had been a little afraid of their brother… although he never would have admitted it.

So it was with mixed feelings that Cas appeared in front of his friend, knowing what would be asked of him even before Dean opened his mouth.

“Cas,” Dean breathed with relief. “I need a favor…”

“You want me to check to see if Sam’s soul is back?” Cas interrupted impatiently.

“Yeah…” Dean said, surprised, but the angel was back by Sam’s side before Dean even had time to blink. Cas already knew Sam’s soul was back, but more for appearances than anything he rolled up his sleeve and plunged his hand into Sam’s unresponsive body, the image of the last time he had performed that action flashing guiltily through his mind.

When Cas’s hand touched Sam’s soul he nearly cried out loud in revulsion. It was just as bad as he’d feared, the soul was in agony and the feel of it was utterly revolting to the angel’s touch. Cas could feel Lucifer’s trademark cruelty all over it, and the thought that Sam’s soul, one of the brightest and most beautiful Cas had ever known, was now little more than refuse made the angel want to scream, to howl his rage and grief to the uncaring Heavens.

After a taking a long minute to compose himself he walked out of the room, avoiding Dean’s anxious stare as he rolled his sleeve down, giving more and more aggravated replies to his friend’s unending questions before finally snapping, pushed beyond endurance by what he’d felt inside Sam.

“His soul feels like it’s been skinned alive! If you wanted to kill your brother, you should have done it outright!” Cas almost shouted, and before Dean could voice his anguish at Cas’s assessment the angel was gone, as far away from the humans and their emotions as it was possible to get.

* * *

Sam awoke groggily and looked around, confused. Was this the Cage? If so it was doing an excellent impression of Bobby's panic room. Gingerly he ran his hands over his face, feeling aches and pains in places he hadn’t even known existed, but nowhere near the level of pain he expected to find in Lucifer’s Cage. He took a moment to just lie there, feeling the cool air, the lack of sulfur stench, and the absence of his tormentor. Eventually he came to the inevitable conclusion… he’d been rescued.

Slowly, wincing every second, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, then stood, nearly falling. After a second of waiting for the room to stop spinning he gradually made his way up the stairs. When he entered the room above he stopped and stared. Dean was there, and _Bobby!_ For a second Sam wondered if he was dreaming. Then Dean turned and saw him, and the look on his brother’s face was nothing Sam’s mind could have dreamed up. With only a second more of hesitation Sam strode forward and grabbed his big brother in a hug, squeezing so tightly that he heard Dean’s ribs creak. Then he turned to Bobby.

“I felt Lucifer snap your neck…” he stammered, overcome.

A strange look entered Bobby’s eyes. “Well… Cas…”

Sam felt his heart almost explode with joy at those words, the intensity of the feeling nearly knocking him backwards.

“Cas is alive?!” he gasped, hardly daring to hope. Cas’s death had been so painful for Sam that he knew whatever torments he was subjected to in Hell could never have compared with the feeling of seeing the angel die.

Sam’s brain completely checked out then, the haze of joy and relief so profound that his body simply went into a kind of shock, and he responded to his brother’s questions and fussing completely on autopilot. Only one thing clearly penetrated his fog of joyful disbelief.

His brother and Bobby were hiding something from him.

* * *

A few days later Sam sat at a table in a motel, his laptop in front of him, looking, but not really seeing. Since he’d got back from Hell all Sam had been able to think of was one thing. Cas was alive. Cas was alive, and nothing else mattered. But he hadn’t seen his friend since his return, and he had a very bad feeling about the angel’s absence.

There were a lot of things that had given Sam a bad feeling since he’d been back. Bobby had been acting strangely, in many cases the older hunter had been almost outright hostile towards him. Dean had his ‘protect little brother’ attitude turned up to maximum, reminding Sam vividly of the days when Dean had gone all out to shelter him from the truth of the monsters that lurked in the night. Add to that the fact that no one would tell him what had happened while he’d been in Hell and Sam could put two and two together, and make a very worrying four.

Several times he opened his mouth, about to pray to the angel, but each time he stopped himself. Eventually he strapped some steel to his spine, and said the words he’d wanted to say every second since he’d returned.

“Castiel, I’m back… if you’ve got a minute…” Sam stood and looked around, half-hoping, half-dreading Cas’s appearance. He felt his shoulders slump in disappointment when Cas didn’t show, but then suddenly he was there, and Sam caught his breath. As always the sight of the angel caused his heart to kick into overdrive, and his brain to completely derail.

Sam just stood for a second, drinking in the sight of his friend, the intense blue eyes, the long, elegant fingers, the perpetual shadow on his jaw, the small half-smile that Sam loved so much. Eventually Sam realized he’d been staring and shook himself. Surprisingly Cas was the first one to speak.

“Sam, it’s so good to see you alive,” Cas said, and that familiar, husky voice made Sam’s body clench with such a punch of love and desire it was almost unendurable.

“Yeah…” Sam eventually stammered, “you too.” He wished he could say something more profound, like ‘ _I missed you so much_ ,’ or ‘ _is everything ok, Cas_?’ or, the most important words, the ones that were etched into Sam’s heart, ‘ _I love you, Castiel_.’ But none of those words seemed able to make their way from his brain to his mouth.

And then Cas moved to hug him and instinctively, for a reason Sam couldn’t really explain, he sat, avoiding the arms that he longed to hold him more than any other. At the look of confusion and hurt on Cas’s face Sam cursed himself back to the depths of Hell, but there was nothing to be done about it now. On a level deep inside, beyond conscious thought, he’d known that hugging the angel was the wrong thing to do, although he couldn’t have said why.

With a small, but quickly stifled, feeling of guilt he then carefully tricked his friend into revealing what everyone had been too afraid to tell him, that for the last year and a half he'd been walking around _with no soul!_ And then, with a feeling of deep, deep dread, he asked Cas for the details of what his soulless self had done. The look that crossed Cas’s face as he asked that question, the revulsion, the pain, the _horror_ , confirmed all of Sam’s worst fears. Quickly and succinctly Cas revealed what Sam had done to Dean and Bobby, and the hunter felt his heart, already fragile, shatter into sharp fragments that left him bleeding from a hundred emotional wounds. But even through his pain Sam saw the tell-tale signs of deceit in his friend and knew that, just like Dean and Bobby, Cas was also hiding something from him. But, unlike the hunters, Sam also knew he would eventually get the truth from Castiel.

No matter how long it took.

 

After Cas left Sam lay down on the bed, too overcome from the revelations of the day to do anything more productive than stare blankly at the ceiling. The next thing he knew he was starting awake, a scream on his lips, the room dark with the long shadows of dusk. As he gazed around in confusion, the last of the nightmare slipping through his fingers, Cas was suddenly there. Sam started, almost falling off the bed in alarm. He knew from bitter experience that angels rarely just appeared for good reasons.

“Cas, what’s wrong?” he eventually stammered, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing, noting with annoyance that he was still slightly unsteady on his feet. Cas tilted his head to the side, his eyes narrowed, and Sam felt his heart speed up, not from longing this time, but from a vague sense of disquiet. Sam often found Cas difficult to read, but in that moment Sam detected both concern and a sharp, cynical wariness in the angel’s gaze.

“Are you hurt?” Cas asked, his voice holding a bite that was new to Sam as well.

“What?” Sam asked, confused and flustered, “No, Cas. I’m fine. Why are you here? Is everything ok? Is Dean alright?”

“To my knowledge Dean is fine,” Cas said, taking a step back. “You called me here, Sam. What do you want?”

Those words sent a strange frisson of déjà vu through Sam, but he shrugged off the feeling and kicked his brain back into gear.

"I didn’t call you, Cas… oh hell, the nightmare!” Sam groaned, running his hands over his face in dismay. “I’m so sorry Cas, I was having a nightmare, I must have called out to you in the dream.”

Cas didn’t say anything, and his body language remained tense and wary. Sam wondered again, this time with even more dread, what had happened to Cas since he'd been to Hell that had given the angel such a sense of distrust. Silently he vowed to himself that he’d find the person responsible for putting that look in his friend’s eyes, and destroy them.

“You should try to get some more sleep, Sam,” Cas said eventually, his stance softening. “Your body and mind are still adjusting to having your soul back, you need time to heal.”

Sam nodded and saw Cas tense up, preparing to leave. Without thinking he grabbed the angel’s hand, suddenly terrified of being left alone with just his nightmares for company. Cas stiffened as if he’d been shot, staring at Sam’s hand with a wild look in his eyes.

Sam withdrew his hand as if he’d been burnt.

“Sorry, Cas. I just… I’m sorry.”

After a tense minute Cas sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, patting the covers in an encouraging way. “Go to sleep, Sam.”

Sam shook his head and stood his ground, determined to get some answers. “What’s wrong, Cas? Don’t think I haven’t noticed how weird you’re being around me.” Sam sat next to Cas on the bed, noting with dismay the way the angel stiffened and leaned slightly away from him. He frowned, the awful feeling he’d had since he’d returned coming back sharply.

“Is it because of something I did when I didn’t have a soul?”

Cas didn’t reply, but his lips twisted in a bitter way that caused Sam’s stomach to drop through the floor. He reached out to put a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“You can tell me, Cas…” he started, then found his hand dropping through empty air as Cas disappeared from under his touch and reappeared in the chair across the room.

“Go. To. _Sleep_ , Sam,” Cas gritted out, turning his face away from the hunter.

Sam stared at the angel, taking in the tense lines of his body, the flashing anger… and _fear?_... in his eyes.

“Cas… are you _scared_ of me?” He swallowed hard, feeling his heart try to climb its way out of his chest when the angel didn’t reply. “Cas… what the _fuck_ did I do to you?”

And then Sam didn’t think anything at all, because Castiel was across the room quicker than thought, knocking him unconscious with a touch.

 

Cas looked down at his friend, at the worry lines still apparent on his face even in sleep. He knew he wasn’t being fair, knew it wasn’t really Sam who had done and said those things, but although he knew it intellectually it didn’t seem to matter. He couldn’t seem to separate this Sam from the Sam who had imprisoned and betrayed him.

The feelings of hurt and betrayal were all the more savage because Cas had rarely felt emotions so strong before, and he had no idea how to cope with them. How did humans deal with feelings like this? Cas had a sudden insight into why the species liked to destroy their brain cells with alcohol.

Cas knew he could have handled the situation better himself, but he’d always been too eager to please the younger Winchester, too eager to make up for believing him to be an abomination. Too attached to the sunny smile Sam only brought out on odd occasions, the smile that caused Cas’s vessel to feel strange, in a good way.

Cas mentally shook himself and sat on the edge of the bed again. He knew he should probably leave, but Sam had seemed so desperate, and his voice as he’d called out his name had contained such heart-rending fear that the angel was loathe to leave until he was certain his friend hadn’t cracked the wall between his mind and the memories of his time in Hell.

And maybe, Cas thought, looking at the face that was so much more familiar now that Sam’s soul was back behind those eyes, maybe watching over the hunter would finally grant him some peace from the inner turmoil of his thoughts.

 

It wasn’t long before Sam started to toss and turn in his sleep, his mouth open in a silent scream for help. Cas watched, unsure what to do. Dreams were something of an enigma to the angel; after all, he’d never experienced one. Tentatively he reached over and shook the hunter’s shoulder.

“No! Lucifer, no… _please!_ ” Sam cried out, and Cas shook him harder, growing concerned. “Don’t! Get away from me! Oh God. God, help me. Cas! _Castiel!_ ”

The last word was ripped from Sam in a long, drawn-out scream as the hunter suddenly sat bolt upright in the bed, scaring the angel so badly he had his wings unfurled halfway, ready to fly, before he’d even really registered the movement.

Sam turned to look at Cas, wiping a hand across a face that was pale and clammy with sweat.

“Cas?” he asked, his confused and vulnerable tone causing the angel's heart to contract painfully in his chest.

“It’s ok, Sam,” Cas said gently. “I’m here. You were having another nightmare.”

“I was?” Sam asked, his voice stronger, but still holding traces of confusion. “I don’t remember.” He grimaced as he looked down, and plucked at his sweat-soaked shirt.

“Ick,” he said succinctly, ripping the shirt off and throwing it across the room. Cas followed the path of the shirt with wide eyes, which snapped immediately back to his now half-naked friend. As Sam raked his hands through his hair, grimacing, Cas found his gaze riveted to Sam’s bare chest, to the suddenly fascinating expanse of muscle moving under smooth skin. His vessel felt strange, like it had before, in the times when Sam, the Sam from before his trip to Hell, had hugged him, or touched his hand accidentally in passing.

And then Sam turned to look at him, and Cas felt the feeling disappear and dread replace it. He hated himself for his reaction, but he found there was nothing he could do to stop his vessel’s instinctive response.

Sam seemed to feel his mental withdrawal; nothing changed in his posture but there was a sudden wariness and hurt in his eyes that caused Cas an almost physical pain.

Sam lay back down, pulling the blankets over him, his back to the angel.

“I hope one day you can tell me, Cas,” he said softly. “And whatever it is, I hope eventually you can forgive me.”

Cas didn’t answer, and his friend was silent for so long that the angel was sure he had fallen asleep. And so he was startled when Sam spoke again, his tone heavy with weariness, and something else Cas couldn’t quite define.

“Will you stay, Cas?”

Cas had the strangest feeling that Sam wasn’t just talking about him staying the night. He hesitated, looking down at the small amount of Sam he could see above the blankets, at the tense lines of pain and fear around his friend’s eyes. He took a deep breath and felt some of the anger and bitterness slip away, leaving a kind of peace in their wake.

“Yes,” he said, eventually. “Yes, Sam. I will stay.”

* * *

The next night Cas was there before Sam had even fully awakened from the nightmare. After it took almost twice as long for the hunter to regain his bearings as it had the previous night, Cas started to really worry. Once again he watched over his sleeping friend, finding that if he put a hand on Sam's shoulder as soon as he began to stir, the nightmare couldn’t seem to get a hold.

As he looked down at his friend’s now peaceful face, Cas felt again that strange stirring deep inside. There was a certain quality about the younger Winchester that had always captured Cas’s attention, something fascinating yet indefinable that drew the angel’s gaze, like a moth staring helplessly at a flame. And since Cas had no need to sleep he guiltily indulged himself by drinking in his sleeping friend’s features, with no idea why watching Sam sleep peacefully under his hand brought him such a sense of happiness.

 

Sam woke up and stilled his body instantly, feeling a hand on his shoulder and knowing without even having to look that it was Cas. There could be no mistaking the slightly too-warm feel of that hand, or the almost electric aura of power the angel seemed to carry around with him like other people carried a coat.

“Cas?” he asked tentatively.

“Yes?” his friend replied, his voice even deeper than usual, and so close that the hunter found himself suddenly immensely grateful for the blankets that covered him up to his chest. He licked his lips, trying to get his voice to co-operate.

“Cas,” he tried again, “what are you doing?”

There was silence, then Sam felt the bed dip as Cas stood up. His shoulder felt suddenly icy cold and unbearably empty; Sam had a sudden sense of what it must have been like for his brother when the Grace-filled hand that had gripped his soul and raised him from Perdition had left him to fight his way out of that grave alone.

Cas moved into Sam’s field of vision and the hunter sat up, looking at his friend expectantly. Cas seemed almost hesitant, and for the first time that Sam had ever seen hectic color touched his cheekbones, as if the angel were embarrassed, or… Sam blocked that train of thought before it could go any further. He knew from bitter experience what emotion false hope was a gateway to.

“I was helping you sleep,” Cas said, with a look of both defiance and guilt, like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Sam felt his cheeks heat up and his eyes widen in shock.

“You were here _all night?_ " he squeaked, instinctively clutching his blankets closer to his chest in a defensive gesture. At his response the angel seemed to get even more flustered.

“You called out to me, and I came,” Cas said gravely. Sam squeezed his eyes shut at the angel’s choice of phrasing, feeling a hysterical giggle building in his chest.

“Did I dream?” he finally asked, dreading the answer. He knew Lucifer wasn’t the only angel he dreamed about in the dark of night. Cas shook his head and Sam let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Don’t you have important angel business to see to?” he asked, and then winced immediately at Cas’s hurt look. “I mean, I’m grateful Cas, but don’t you have a war on? That’s much more important than I am.”

“Is it?” Cas murmured, and Sam had the strangest feeling that the angel hadn’t meant to voice that thought out loud. Then his friend cocked his head to the side in that familiar ‘listening’ gesture, and with another enigmatic sideways look was gone, leaving Sam feeling more confused and alone than ever.

* * *

Dean and Bobby were off hunting and Sam had been left at the motel as ‘backup’, like an inexperienced teenager, which had made him mad as hell until he’d realized that the absence of the other hunters might mean a return of his nocturnal visitor. Sam hadn’t seen the angel for a few days, except when Dean occasionally called on him during hunts, and during those times Sam had been so paralyzed by the memory of Cas’s hand on his shoulder that he’d been pretty much incoherent. At that thought he grudgingly admitted that his brother might have been right to leave him behind, he hadn’t exactly had his head in the game lately.

Sam fidgeted and paced his way through the day, unable to settle to anything. When the sun finally started to crawl its way towards the horizon he had a shower and brushed his teeth and hair, then straightened his pajamas in the mirror. Then he combed his hair again, and fussed in the mirror again. After the third time Sam suddenly realized he was acting like a teenage schoolgirl before her first big date, and looked guiltily around, fully expecting Dean to have arrived unannounced and seen him. Quickly he decided that he needed something, _anything_ , to distract him from his racing thoughts, so he turned to his laptop… after one final glance in the mirror.

It took less than five minutes for Sam to slam the laptop shut in frustration and, after a longing glance at the alcohol Dean had left behind, lay down in bed well before the time he usually went to sleep. He soon regretted that choice as he discovered that he’d traded fidgeting and pacing for tossing and turning. Every small sound caused his heart to speed up and his breathing to quicken as he both longed for the angel to show, and simultaneously dreaded his appearance.

Sam didn’t know what was happening between him and Castiel. He knew his friend was keeping something from him, and whatever secret he was holding was causing him to act completely out of character. By turns he was overly protective, hovering over Sam like he might break into a thousand pieces at any second, and at other times he was coldly distant and wary. Sam was beyond confused, and his heart, which always ached for the angel, alternately soared and broke until he was dizzy and sick with the constant roller coaster of emotion.

It took several hours of those unhelpful thoughts, and much more tossing and turning, before the angel eventually appeared. Sam knew the exact second he arrived; as always Cas’s arrival was like a force of nature, something he could _feel_ in his skin, hot and electric, like lightning on a summer’s day.

Cas padded closer and Sam clenched his teeth, staring determinedly at the motel’s brick wall while his body reacted the way it always did near the angel, with an almost unbearable yearning, like a metal filing leaning towards a magnet.

“Cas,” he said eventually, knowing some of his tension was bleeding into his words, but unable to prevent it. It had gotten more and more difficult for Sam to hide his true feelings since returning from Hell; every emotion was raw and open, as if he’d somehow lost the protective layers he’d built up around his heart after years of bitter grief and pain.

“Sam,” Cas said, sitting on the edge of the bed and placing his hand gently on the hunter’s shoulder. Sam closed his eyes and tried to relax, but it was useless. After several minutes Cas finally spoke again.

“Why aren’t you sleeping, Sam?” the angel asked, sounding concerned.

Sam wanted to say, _‘because your freaking hand is on my shoulder and it’s like being touched by goddamn live wire!’_ but he bit the words back… just. Instead he sighed and sat up, turning to face the angel, who was looking at him with wide blue eyes, the hostility Sam had sensed previously not present in this moment.

“I can’t sleep while you’re sitting like that,” he prevaricated. “Cas… I can’t relax unless you do. You can’t possibly be comfortable sitting there. Put your legs up on the bed at least.” Cas looked at Sam strangely, then shrugged, swinging his legs up onto the bed and resting back against the headboard.

“Better?” Sam asked, amused. Cas nodded. “The only thing is,” Sam said, looking at the stiff way Cas held himself and ruthlessly holding back the laughter, “usually when people relax, they take their shoes off.”

Cas looked at his feet and back up at Sam. “Why?” he asked, that familiar ‘humans are so strange’ note of confusion in his voice. “I always wear these shoes.”

“I know,” Sam said, feeling his eye start to twitch with the strain of keeping the laughter in. “Just trust me, will you?”

The shadow that crossed Cas’s face at those words killed all sense of amusement in Sam. Something that he’d said had struck a chord with his friend, and the hunter wished desperately that he could go back in time and start the conversation over again.

After a moment of tension that lasted an eternity Cas seemed to make a conscious effort to relax his vessel, mojoing his shoes away and turning to Sam with a small smile. Sam felt his heart lift in response, and he grinned at his friend, unable to help noticing how close their bodies were on the bed, even though he carefully kept a layer of blankets between them.

“Now I am relaxed?” Cas said, his tone half statement and half question. Sam nodded, still smiling, and lay down again, feeling the comforting weight of Cas’s hand land gently on his shoulder.

“Go to sleep, Sam,” Cas said softly. And, to Sam’s great surprise, he did.

* * *

Over the next week Cas and Sam settled into a routine. Whenever Sam was left alone at night, which was more and more often as Dean became increasingly insistent that Sam not do anything that might even slightly crack the wall inside his mind, Cas would stay and keep the nightmares at bay.

If he'd been more alert and not pulled in several directions at once Sam knew Dean would have twigged that something wasn’t quite right between his brother and his best friend, however Dean hardly knew what day of the week it was, and Sam thought that was just as well. Cas’s ‘sleepovers’ would have been difficult to explain to his brother, especially since Sam couldn’t even explain them to himself.

Whenever Cas stayed the night Sam was careful to always face away from the angel, making sure his hips in no way came into contact with his friend. On some level he felt ashamed of how his body reacted to Cas’s closeness, but he knew there was no point worrying about it; there was absolutely nothing he could do to prevent it. Just being in the same room as Cas had often caused Sam a great deal of discomfort, having him on the bed, touching his shoulder but unable to do anything more, was sending Sam close to the edge of madness. But it was more than Sam had ever had from the angel before and, maddening or not, he never wanted it to end.

 

Inevitably, as one week became two Sam found he couldn’t continue to just be passive and not respond to the angel’s touch in some way… he _had_ to do something, however small. When Cas flew in that night, and settled himself beside Sam on the bed as usual, the hunter knew the time had come to do something before he went stark raving bonkers.

After psyching himself up for several minutes he slowly, hesitantly, giving Cas every opportunity to move away, raised a hand and carefully placed it over Cas’s where it was gently touching his shoulder, not gripping it or even exerting any pressure, just a touch as delicate as a butterfly’s wing. Sam felt Cas stiffen, but miraculously the angel didn’t move away.

Sam felt his heart speed up to the point where he thought his whole body must be vibrating in time to the beat, and he thought he heard something like a whimper come from his friend, but it was so soft he couldn’t be sure. Slowly, and ever so gently, he moved his thumb, lightly caressing the fingers beneath his hand, still doing nothing to confine or restrict the angel in any way. When he was as sure as he could be that his friend wasn't upset by his actions he gently lifted Cas’s hand and turned his head slightly, barely brushing his lips along the angel’s knuckles, turning his body so he was on his back instead of his side as he did so.

As his lips made contact with the angel’s skin Sam felt more than heard Cas release a shuddering breath, and finally raised his eyes to see what, if any, impact his affection was having on his friend. As he looked up his eyes were captivated by Cas’s face, the angel’s lips were slightly parted, a deep pink blush stained his cheeks, and Sam could see the angel’s chest rise and fall as he breathed in quick, unnecessary breaths. But it was Cas’s eyes that held Sam’s attention, the pupils were blown so wide there was hardly any sign of blue, and the angel was staring at the place where their hands joined with such an intent look that Sam felt his heart stutter and almost stop.

As Cas slowly turned those wide, expressive eyes towards Sam’s own, the hunter was suddenly struck by an intense flash of memory.

_A ring of fire._

_Blue eyes that were filled with pain, and anger, and betrayal._

_His hand, crushing the angel’s so tightly it would have bruised the bones of a normal human._

He sat up with a gasp, pushing the angel’s hand from his shoulder violently. As he tried to catch his breath, his heart straining against his ribcage, he again caught sight of Cas’s face, and the look of hurt on it caused Sam to wish desperately that he was back in Hell, because surely nothing Lucifer could dream up could be as torturous as the avalanche of memories that look provoked.

_His lips, brushing the angel’s neck. Cas stiffening in his arms._

_His hands, pushing the angel’s coat from his shoulders._

_A savage kiss, Cas frozen and unresponsive with shock, or rage, or fear._

_The hurt on Cas’s face._

Cas! He had hurt his glorious, beloved angel. The most important person in Sam’s life, the touchstone of his very existence. He had stalked the most precious, perfect and beautiful being in all of God’s creation like he was prey, fit only for Sam’s basest desires. It was appalling, monstrous, _unforgivable!_

Sam abruptly came back to himself, panting, blood flooding his mouth from where he’d bitten his tongue, his throat raw from screaming. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Cas reaching out to him, but before the angel could touch him Sam threw himself from the bed and ran to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him, barely making it to the basin before he was thoroughly and violently sick.

 

Cas had been feeling tense and strange all week, something about watching over Sam at night was causing him to feel very odd, and he knew he wanted something, _needed_ something… he just wasn’t sure _what_. Every day that feeling seemed to get worse, until it almost consumed him, and he found himself waiting impatiently for the night, for the time he would spend with his friend. The need to be near Sam got to be so bad that on the nights when Dean was in the motel he still stayed in the room with the brothers, invisible, silently itching to place his hand on Sam, to feel his heat through the thin cotton shirt he wore to bed, to occasionally accidentally brush his fingers against the exposed skin of his neck. For the first time since the angel had gripped Dean’s soul and raised him from Perdition Cas had found himself willing Dean to _go away!_

Looking down at his charge now Cas felt the room get very hot, which, along with his other racing, uncontrollable thoughts was enough to give him pause, his vessel shouldn’t have been able to feel the heat like that; shouldn’t have been feeling much of anything if he’d been in proper control of it, which clearly he was not.

Cas was completely baffled by this turn of events, mere days ago the thought of Sam touching him had set off feelings of pain and helplessness, the memory of that ring of fire, and the look in Sam’s eyes, enough to give even an angel a shiver of remembered dread. But at some point whilst protecting Sam from his nightmares it seemed that he had finally come to separate ‘real Sam’ from the… thing… that had masqueraded as his friend, to the point where he wondered now how he’d been so blind as to think that the Sam without a soul had been truly Sam; the difference was as obvious to him now as the difference between the sun and the moon.

When Sam reached up and placed his hand over Cas’s his first instinct had been to run, but that was a fleeting thing, a leftover memory from the soulless Sam’s less than gentle treatment. When Sam did nothing except leave his hand where it was Cas relaxed, and when Sam started to rub his thumb across the joints of his fingers the angel felt a sensation unlike anything he had ever felt before shoot through him.

Cas suddenly found his whole world narrowing to the feel of Sam’s slightly calloused thumb gently caressing and exploring the landscape of his fingers, and abruptly realized with a deep and profound amazement why humans constantly touched each other. The feeling was nothing the angel could put a name to, it was too intense, too intimate for words. Then when Sam turned and brushed his lips against his knuckles Cas found he was no longer able to try to define what was happening, because every rational thought had flown from his mind, leaving nothing but sensation in their wake.

Then Sam abruptly shuddered, and his hand went still. Cas held his breath, willing his friend not to stop, craving that hum of intense connection, wanting, _needing_ more _._ He started to look down into Sam’s eyes, desperate to see what was going on behind them, but by that point it was already far too late, and Sam was screaming and thrashing as he had in the nightmares, except this time he wasn’t asleep.

After a second of shock Cas finally reacted, reaching out to stop his friend from hurting himself, but the look that Sam gave him had his hand halting in mid-air. At Sam’s expression of abject horror Cas felt his Grace try to claw its way out of his vessel, frantic to heal Sam, to take away his pain, but the angel knew there was nothing his touch could do for his friend. This was a pain that went far beyond the body, all the way to the soul.

After another frozen moment Sam suddenly threw himself violently away from Cas’s touch, darting into the bathroom so quickly that even the angel’s inhuman reflexes weren’t fast enough to stop him.

As the door slammed shut behind Sam Cas felt the blood drain from his face, and felt suddenly very human, his vessel abruptly shaking and covered with a cold, clammy sweat. The angel knew a reaction that violent could mean only one thing.

Sam had regained the memories of his time without a soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading guys! You’re the greatest! Hope you’re enjoying it so far!  
> 


	3. Salvation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, welcome to chapter three! Ok, so, lots more angst in this chapter. However, fair warning, also lots of hanky panky ;)

Cas wasn’t used to feeling so utterly helpless, but he knew there was nothing he could do for his friend; in fact his very presence was only making the situation worse. Cas knew Sam needed his brother, needed Dean now more than perhaps he’d ever needed him, but the angel was unwilling to leave Sam alone for even the small amount of time it would take to find Dean and bring him back.

After a second of indecision Cas finally remembered the phone the brothers had given him and pulled it out of his pocket, feeling the metal start to creak under his hand before he quickly eased his grip, terrified of accidentally destroying the strange device. He poked at the little buttons in frustration, trying desperately to remember which one made Dean’s voice come out of the speaker. After a few increasingly exasperated moments Cas deliberately calmed himself and brought forth the memory of Dean patiently explaining what to do, finally managing to dial the number.

After several rings Dean’s voice came over the phone, sounding strained. “Cas, what is it? I’m kind of in the middle of something here.”

Cas didn’t waste any energy trying to explain, he just said the words the he knew would get Dean there the fastest, “Sam needs you”, and hung up.

           

Dean had indeed been busy when Cas had called, a simple salt and burn job had, naturally, turned out to be anything but simple. But at the angel’s words Dean had dropped everything, almost literally, confident that Bobby could pick up the pieces. He was back at the motel in record time, his heart in his mouth, bitter experience leading him to assume the worst.

When he opened the door and saw Cas sitting with his back against the bathroom door, resting his head on his knees in a posture of abject misery, Dean had to actively force himself to step into the room, his worst fears confirmed.

“Cas?” he asked quietly. His friend’s head jerked up, and Dean was surprised that the angel obviously hadn’t heard him come in. He locked gazes with Cas, then looked meaningfully at the bathroom door. Cas nodded, getting up and moving towards him.

“Can you still hear him if we talk outside?” Dean whispered when Cas got closer. Cas nodded, and Dean knew the angel was surprised that he had clearly guessed some of what had happened. Dean felt a surge of affectionate exasperation; Cas was still so clueless about humans, even after all the time he’d spent among them. They moved outside and Dean half closed the motel door.

“Is it the memories of his time with Lucifer?” Dean asked, dreading the answer. Cas shook his head and he relaxed fractionally.

“He remembers what he did while he had no soul,” Cas said instead, and Dean felt a wave of relief wash over him. That was ok. Sam would be upset, but they could deal with that.

As Dean relaxed Cas’s expression changed to one of someone hiding a guilty secret, and Dean’s relief evaporated like snow on a summer’s day.

“Cas?” he asked warningly. Cas shifted a little, unable to meet his eyes. “Cas...” Dean said again, growing increasingly concerned. “Look at me.”

Cas looked up, and Dean caught his breath at the expression on the angel’s face.

“Tell me,” he commanded.

 

As Cas’s tale of woe unfolded, Dean groped backwards for the bench outside the motel room, sinking down onto it, his eyes still locked on the angel’s. This wasn’t just a mess, it was a fucking disaster.

“Are you ok, Cas?” he asked finally, seeing the angel’s surprise, and feeling irrationally angered by it. “What, you think I don’t know how that must have affected you? Cas… are you all right?” Cas nodded slowly and Dean sighed.

“No you’re not. Why didn’t you tell me?”

The shifty way Cas looked everywhere but his face told Dean more than the angel would have liked to reveal. Cas had been protecting Sam, hadn’t wanted to reveal his weakness even to his own brother. That wasn’t just the action of a friend, and Dean filed that thought away for future reference. Right now, with both his brother and best friend’s mental stability in question, Sam’s love life was the least of his concerns.

Cas answered Dean’s question with one of his own. “Why do you think Sam chose to target me? He must have known he had no hope of overpowering me.”

“It’s not my place to say, Cas,” Dean said evasively, knowing that if he told Cas that his brother was in love with him Sam wouldn’t need to be soulless to string him up and use him for target practice… even though by now the angel really _should_ know.

Dean sighed. He knew it wasn’t fair to expect Cas to know how his brother felt, it was hard enough for humans to know if someone loved them or not. But it was just so _obvious_ to everyone except the angel. Dean knew. Bobby knew. Hell, even Crowley knew. Every time Sam and Cas were in the same room Sam lit up like a nuclear-powered Christmas tree.

Dean shook himself out of that line of thought; that was a worry for another day. He knew Cas was still listening out for Sam, but his brother wasn’t going to come out while Cas was there, and his friend needed some time and distance from this, even if he didn’t realize it.

Dean took a deep breath, knowing his next words were going to go down like a lead balloon. “Cas, do you have somewhere safe you can go and hole up for a while? You need to go and clear your head. I’ll look after Sam.”

Cas stared into Dean in that way that always made the hunter feel vulnerable, stripped bare under the angel’s penetrating gaze. He shifted uncomfortably on the bench, but kept eye contact with his friend, breathing a silent sigh of relief when Cas was the first to look away.

“You look after yourself, Cas, I’ll look after my brother,” Dean said gently. Then, with a sudden insight into why the angel had reacted the way he had, he quickly added, “I promise, I won’t leave his side.”

Cas turned to look straight into his eyes, and Dean again felt himself pinned to the bench by the inhuman stare of an Angel of the Lord. Then Cas’s mask slipped back in place and, with another almost longing glance at the motel room door, he nodded and was gone.

 

Dean walked into the room and sat down outside the bathroom door, in much the same position that Cas had occupied minutes before.

“Sammy?” he called quietly through the door. There was silence for a moment, then a small, trembling voice said “Dean?” and Dean had a sudden vivid flashback to the days when they'd been younger, when his little brother had had nightmares and Dean had sat with him at night, holding his hand until he fell asleep.

“Yeah, Sammy,” Dean said, pushing the memories away and willing his voice to steadiness. “It’s me. I’m here.”

There was silence, then Dean heard his brother slide down the other side of the door. He waited, and eventually Sam spoke again.

“Dean… I hurt Cas,” his brother said, a world of agony in those simple words. Dean hesitated, not sure how to proceed.

“I know, Sam,” he said at last. “Cas told me.”

“Where is Cas? Is he all right?”

“He’s gone off to do some angel stuff,” Dean said evasively. “He was more worried about you than anything.” That part was true at least. He heard Sam sigh, and knew his brother had realized how easily he’d avoided answering the question.

There was silence for a long time and Dean listened intently, making sure he could still hear his brother breathe.

“I’ve ruined everything,” Sam said eventually. There was no shakiness in his voice now, just a dead emptiness that was far more worrying to Dean than if Sam had screamed and cried and railed against the world. Dean knew his brother, knew him better than he knew himself. He knew that ever since Sam had found out he had demon blood running through his veins he’d been scared of turning into a monster. And now, in Sam’s eyes, that had finally come to pass.

“I’m a monster,” Sam said brokenly, startling Dean with how accurate his assessment of his brother’s train of thought had been.

Dean sighed, trying to find the right words. “I was with you when you didn’t have a soul, remember? And that was not you. I’m your brother, I think I know you pretty well after all these years. And Sammy, _that was not you!_ ”

"You can say that all you want, Dean,” Sam said, a hard edge to his voice, “but clearly that darkness lives inside me, or even with ‘me’ gone, I wouldn’t have been able to do the things I did.”

“Bullshit,” Dean growled, putting the same bite into his words, trying to force Sam to see reason. He opened his mouth, then closed it again with a snap. There was another tack he could take, but Dean wasn't sure he wanted to go down that path. Sam knew that Dean knew about his feelings for the angel, but they’d never talked about it. Dean struggled internally for a few more moments, then abruptly made his decision. Anything was worth a try at this point.

“Sam, you love Cas, right?”

There was silence on the other side of the door, and Dean could practically feel the tension in the air. But the words had been said, there was no taking them back now, so Dean grimly plowed ahead, hoping he was doing the right thing.

“You’d never deliberately hurt Cas. Or me. The very thought of it makes you sick. I know, because I’d feel the same if I hurt you.” Dean paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts, trying to find the right words to make his brother understand. “ _That_ is the real you, Sam. Your soul is what you are, not the meat suit you wear. You of all people should know that. I mean, is Crowley any less of a narcissistic son of a bitch with a god complex when he’s in a different body?”

There was a sound on the other side of the door that sounded suspiciously like a sob, or a laugh, and Dean held his breath, hoping this was a turning point.

“When did this turn into a chick flick?” Sam asked finally, and Dean let out a shuddering breath of relief. Maybe, just maybe, it was going to be ok.

* * *

Once again Cas found himself summoned before the King of Hell, only this time the setting was quite different. Cas looked around the stereotypical dungeon setting in distaste, taking in the moldy stone walls, the flickering torches in blackened sconces, the puddles of fetid water and other unidentifiable liquids. Then his lip curled as he saw the demon bent over a surgical table, slowly carving his name into the flesh of a hapless soul; no doubt one of the many thousands that Crowley had personally consigned to Hell with a kiss.

“Castiel,” Crowley said with a smirk. “Welcome to my humble abode. Sorry about the mess, I’m afraid I have a certain image to maintain.”

“Enough with the games, Crowley,” Cas growled. “You summoned me here, now talk. I’m busy.”

“Busy moping over a certain Winchester by any chance?” Crowley leered, still not looking up from the table. “He’s the reason I called you here. We really need to do something about his… situation.”

“Why do you care?” Cas asked suspiciously.

“I don’t, but you’re no use to me like this, duckie,” Crowley said, casually digging the knife into the object of his torment a little further. Cas winced but didn’t look away. Unlike Dean and Sam, these souls were in Hell for a reason.

“I knew what was wrong with the sasquatch long before you and Squirrel. Why do you think that is?” Crowley continued, the change of tack taking Cas off guard.

Cas shrugged and looked away, exasperated with the demon’s evasions. Crowley sighed and put the knife down, fastidiously wiping his hands on his apron. “Because,” he said, gesturing at the once-human mess on the table, “souls are my business. The angels think they know about souls, but you don’t. Until you’ve corrupted a few hundred thousand souls, and learnt how they tick, you’ll never know what I know.”

Cas shrugged noncommittally, waiting for the demon to get to the point.

“You know Sam’s nightmares are memories from the Cage, right?” Crowley continued when it became clear that Cas wasn’t going to rise to the bait. Cas nodded stiffly, feeling his stomach drop as Crowley confirmed his worst fears. “And you know the reason the wall is cracking is because, deep down, he believes he deserves to be punished for what he did to you?”

Cas frowned and shook his head. “He did things to Dean too. Shouldn’t you be talking to him about this? Sam’s bond with his brother is the strongest I’ve ever seen.”

Crowley looked at him in such genuine shock that Cas was taken aback.

“Oh, Castiel,” Crowley said softly, “you can’t really be that dense, surely?” The demon stared at him, unblinking, and Cas felt himself tense as a wicked grin spread slowly across the King of Hell’s face. “You can! Oh, that’s just precious.”

‘What?” Cas snapped, his patience finally reaching its limits.

“Never you mind,” Crowley smirked. “Ask your Winchester boys why Sam cares so much more about what he did to you. There’s no way you and I are having that conversation.”

“If you know so much then tell me, what do I do?” Cas asked finally, crossing his arms in a defensive gesture as Crowley moved closer.

“I can’t believe I’m about to say this,” Crowley sighed, “but you have to forgive that oversized rodent, and get him to forgive himself. If you don’t he’ll keep torturing himself until he loses his mind, and then you’ll start torturing yourself, and you won’t have the strength to do what we both know needs to be done.”

Crowley’s eyes gleamed as he stepped right up next to Cas, so close he could smell the blood that was liberally splattered across the demon’s arms and face. “You haven’t forgotten our little deal now, have you kitten?” Crowley whispered in his ear, and Cas had to use all of his considerable restraint not to flinch at the feel of the demon’s hot breath on his neck.

Cas turned to face Crowley, watching with satisfaction as the demon was momentarily discomforted by the weight of his stare.

“Angels never forget,” he said quietly, and before Crowley could reply with one of his usual sarcastic comments, he was gone.

* * *

A few weeks had passed and Dean was starting to see his brother, if not cheer up, at least start to take more of an interest in the world around him. The dead-eyed and empty stare that had so worried Dean in the days after that fateful night still made an occasional appearance, but Sam was now capable of conversing in more than monosyllables and grunts. His brother still drank until he passed out every night, but as far as Dean was concerned that was as healthy a coping mechanism as they had on hand right now.

Dean had spoken to Cas a few times, checking on the angel’s state of mind and reassuring him about Sam, but each time he had warned his friend in no uncertain terms to stay away. They both needed more time and distance to heal, and Dean didn’t want to risk a major setback in Sam’s progress. Cas had understood, but Dean could hear the growing restlessness in his voice each time they spoke, and wondered how much longer he could reasonably keep them apart.

Dean pulled up to the liquor store in the Impala, Sam had drunk through his entire supply again and Dean wasn’t prepared to face the night sober. He was just about to get out when Cas suddenly appeared in the passenger seat.

“Son of a _bitch!_ ” he yelped, jumping half out of his skin, his heart slamming against his ribs. “What the hell, Cas? We’ve talked about this!”

Cas turned to look at him, and Dean shut his trap immediately. Cas looked terrible, his eyes were hooded and sunken, his hair was a mess, and his normally impeccable clothes were stained with what looked like dried blood.

“Cas?” Dean whispered. “Are you ok?”

Cas looked at Dean in incomprehension, then followed his meaningful glance down to the stains on his coat. “It is of no consequence,” he muttered. Dean doubted that, but wisely kept silent.

“Has Sam been having nightmares?” Cas asked finally, and it took Dean’s frazzled brain a few seconds to adjust to the change in subject.

“No,” Dean said at last. “He’s been drinking himself to sleep every night. I doubt he has enough brain cells left to come up with a nightmare.” Then, dreading the answer, he asked the inevitable question. “Why?”

Cas looked uncomfortable. “The nightmares might not be true nightmares, but memories bleeding through the wall. And… the longer he obsesses over the memories of his time without a soul, the more damaged that wall is likely to become.”

Dean sucked in a sharp breath. That was bad news, very, _very_ bad news.

“So what do we do?” he asked immediately. “Sam’s getting better, this morning he got up before noon and ate some actual food for breakfast. Can’t we just wait for him to sort through this by himself?”

Cas was already shaking his head before Dean finished. “You know Sam, he’ll continue to punish himself over and over, until the end of time if necessary. He has to forgive himself. You have to give me some time alone with him, to talk to him about what happened.”

“Cas…” Dean said gently, “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Sam’s still fragile. Seeing you again might be all it takes to push him over the edge.”

Cas sat quietly for a second, and Dean waited for the angel to gather his thoughts.

“Why?” he asked eventually, the question encompassing far more than Dean’s previous statement. Dean closed his eyes. He was so tired, totally worn down by his brother’s spiral into alcoholic madness. He didn’t have the energy to explain Sam’s feelings to the angel.

After several minutes of silence Dean realized that Cas wasn’t going to leave without an answer, and grudgingly tried to collect his scattered thoughts. After a couple of false starts he finally, very carefully, gave the angel all the necessary information he needed to draw his own conclusions, without breaking his brother’s trust.

“Cas, sometimes… sometimes you meet someone, and suddenly they’re the only thing you can think about. You wake up thinking about them, you go to bed thinking about them, you want to be near them all the time. And when you meet someone like that, you suddenly find that all you want in life is for them to be happy. And if you hurt them...well...” Dean made a vague gesture with his hand, something meant to say _'you end up like Sam.'_

Dean knew he could have chosen a better way of explaining love to his friend, but he suddenly found he was physically incapable of continuing the conversation. He was done. He was so done. He kept his eyes closed, not looking to see if the angel understood the implication in his words.

“Don’t come to the motel tonight,” Cas said, sounding strained, and Dean didn’t need to look to know he was gone. After another minute of replaying the conversation over in his mind Dean leaned forward and banged his head softly, but repeatedly, against the steering wheel, before finally getting out to buy as much booze as he could afford.

* * *

Cas had a lot to think about, but he knew that now was not the time to think. Now was the time to act. He’d already allowed Sam too long to brood, too long to put cracks in that all-important wall. So as the sun began to sink below the horizon Cas flew to the motel room, mentally steeling himself for the conversation ahead. However, when he got there it was to find the room empty.

Cas felt his shoulders slump in disappointment; it hadn’t even occurred to him that Sam wouldn’t be there. Feeling a little deflated he wandered around the latest dingy room the brothers had decided to call home, taking particular note of the number of empty bottles sitting in a pile in the corner. With a sigh he sat on the edge of the bed and folded his hands in his lap, trying and failing to reclaim the still patience that his immortality usually granted him.

Finally, as true darkness was starting to fall, he heard the rattle of a key in the lock and quickly stood up, suddenly nervous. When Sam walked in the door, his face pale, his hands trembling and his hair a complete mess, Cas found himself utterly unable to speak. All he could do was look at Sam, to drink in the sight of him like a human dying of thirst would drink from an oasis. What was _happening_ to him?

“Sam,” he said at last, and at the sound of his voice Sam dropped his keys and jumped a good foot backwards, instinctively pulling out his knife. Cas bit his lip, annoyed with himself. This wasn’t a good start. He sat back down on the bed, hoping Sam would be calmed by his non-threatening posture.

“Cas?” Sam finally stuttered, turning on the light and staring at him with wild eyes.

After several tense moments Sam was the first to break the silence. Slowly he moved to the bed where Cas was sitting and knelt down on the floor beside him, bowing his head as if in prayer.

“Cas,” Sam said, his voice shaking, “I know I can never make up for what I did but, I’m so sorry, Cas. So very, very sorry.”

Slowly, not sure why he was doing it, Cas put out his hand and tenderly ran it through Sam’s hair, straightening it into a kind of order, marveling at the feel of it under his hands. He felt Sam shudder under his touch, and felt that now-familiar tightening of his body, a craving he didn’t know how to fulfill.

“I forgive you, Sam,” Cas said softly. “Not that forgiveness is necessary, since, as I’m sure Dean has tried to explain to you, that ‘Sam’ wasn’t you.”

Sam started to protest and Cas hissed in irritation. Sam looked up at him, and whatever he saw in the angel’s face made him rethink the value of opening his mouth. Cas waited until he was sure his friend wasn’t going to interrupt again, and continued explaining the best way he knew how.

“Sam, without a soul your body is just an animal. It does what it wants without any thought for anyone else. Its instincts are to survive and to mate, and that’s pretty much it. Your body is no more you than this body is me.”

Sam looked away and Cas sighed. He knew that rationally Sam knew that his vessel wasn’t him, knew intellectually he was an Angel, but, as Cas had recently discovered, it was one thing to know something, and another to really _feel_ it. And sure enough, the next words out of Sam’s mouth revealed his complete lack of understanding.

“What if it happens again? What if I betray you again? Cas, I can’t take that risk. You’ve got to stay away from me.”

Sam looked up at him through his eyelashes, similar to something the Sam without a soul had done, but _so very different!_ And suddenly Cas couldn’t take any more of Sam blaming himself, of thinking he was somehow less because his soulless body had acted on its instincts and desires, just as any animal’s would do.

Sam, who had lived most of his life either hunting or being hunted, immediately sensed the shift in Cas’s mood, and Cas smiled humorlessly as his friend instinctively stood up and stepped backwards. Cas flowed to his feet, for once allowing his divinity to really take control of his vessel, instead of pushing it down and trying to move, and think, and _feel_ things the way the humans did.

Cas knew Sam was used to being the strongest in any encounter; his sheer size was enough to intimidate much of the prey they hunted. Add to that the determination and stubbornness that both Winchesters possessed in spades and Sam was top of the food chain. As many monsters, and even angels and demons, had discovered over the years.

But Cas wasn’t a part of any chain, food or otherwise. Since his return from death he existed outside the rules, his destiny no longer linked to Heaven, but to the Winchesters.

“Go on, Sam,” Cas said softly, stalking forwards. “Try it. Try to bring me down, and impose your will on me. I promise you won’t get far.”

“Cas…” Sam breathed, shocked. “No.”

“See?” Cas said in triumph. “The soulless you would have tried. And failed.”

Cas took another step forward. Sam took another one back, but not fast enough. Cas shot his foot out and swept Sam’s legs out from under him, disappearing and reappearing behind the hunter, catching him as he fell, and, in a move that would have been impossible for a human, picking his friend up and flinging him onto the bed, where a now thoroughly alarmed Sam started to fall off the other side. But Cas was there again, far too fast for Sam to evade, pinning him to the mattress with a knee on his chest. Suddenly the angel was leaning over Sam, his hands on either side of his face, and the hunter instinctively froze, like a deer in front of an oncoming truck. Cas smiled to himself, feeling his friend's racing heartbeat under his knee, hearing it speed up with ears that were a hundred thousand times more sensitive than a normal human’s.

“This is me being gentle,” Cas whispered, staring down into Sam’s eyes, which were suddenly so wide they seemed to take up half his face, willing him to understand. “Do you still think you could make me do something I didn’t want to do?”

Sam stared back at him in complete shock. Cas sighed, sitting back across Sam’s hips, still pinning the hunter’s body to the bed, but moving his knee off Sam’s chest, afraid of accidentally crushing him.

“Cas…” Sam said, his voice sounding strange to the angel, who was finding it hard to think all of a sudden. “I think you should get off me now.”

“Why?” Cas asked irritably. Getting off Sam was suddenly the last thing he wanted to do.

“Hngh,” Sam replied incoherently, putting his arm over his eyes and biting his lower lip so hard Cas was afraid he’d draw blood. “Please don’t make me explain why to you, Cas.”

Cas leaned back in confusion, then hissed as his hips rolled against Sam’s. The sensation was so unbelievably pleasurable that he did it again, experimentally. The noise that Sam made had all the hairs on Cas’s vessel standing on end. He stared down at his friend, who was now biting his fist, his eyes scrunched closed and sweat beading his forehead. After a second Sam stopped biting his hand, his breathing ragged and uncontrolled.

“Cas, get the _fuck_ off me before I do something I regret, _again!_ ” Sam hissed, pushing ineffectually at the angel’s knees with his hands, and Cas was suddenly irrationally angry, the toll of the last year finally too much. After everything, the war, the deal with Crowley, the Cage rescue, and finding out he’d left Sam’s soul behind, Sam was rejecting him because of his stupid need to punish himself for something he didn’t even do.

“You. Can’t. Hurt. Me! I’m an _Angel!_ Why does _everyone_ keep forgetting that?!” Cas howled, feeling his Grace stir within, and for once not doing a thing to suppress it. He felt it burst from him in an uncontrolled display of power, and before he had time to think too hard he was reaching into the dimension beyond human perception, bringing forth his wings.

           

Sam was a confused combination of terrified, turned on, and just about every emotion in between. Everything had happened so fast, one second he was rallying himself to argue with his friend about what being soulless meant, the next Cas had disabled him as easily as he might pick up a kitten by the scruff. For the first time Sam realized, _truly_ realized how careful Cas was with the humans in his charge, and appreciated just what a formidable ally, and _terrifying_ enemy, the angel made.

And, finally, Sam understood what Cas and Dean had been trying to tell him; that having a soul _did_ make a difference to who he truly was inside. Because no matter what happened next, no matter the provocation (and _fuck,_ having Cas straddling his hips was far more provocation than Sam felt was necessary to get the point across) he wouldn’t act on his desire for the angel, unless Cas permitted it. He would _not_.

At that thought he felt something relax inside him. It wasn’t forgiveness; Sam doubted he would ever forgive himself for what he’d done. But it was an acknowledgement, an understanding that he was not the monster that he’d thought he was, the monster he could so easily have been.

And then Cas was angry, and an angry Cas was the most terrifying goddamn thing Sam had ever seen, and he’d been to Hell with Lucifer. Light burst forth from the Angel, so bright that Sam had to shield his face. Peering carefully through his fingers he could just make out Cas's blazing blue eyes, and behind those eyes something ancient and staggeringly beautiful, something incomprehensible and unknowable, glorious and divine.

And then the unimaginable happened, something Sam had only dared to dream about in the absolute privacy of the far corners of his mind. The light died away and in its place the room was filled with feathers. Shocked, Sam gazed up at the angel, feeling his whole body shaking with reaction. Cas was magnificent in his anger, his trench coat and tie were gone, his shirt hung in tatters around his waist, and his bare chest was heaving with deep, unnecessary breaths. And then Sam’s eyes drifted beyond Cas’s face and his brain, which had frozen in shock, suddenly kicked back into gear as he finally took in what he was seeing. The angel’s wings were _enormous_ , far too big for the room; the midnight black feathers were crushed against the ceiling and the outspread wing tips were curled inward around the bed.

Sam felt his face go slack in complete shock; there were no words to describe the majesty of the being pinning him to the bed, and with the tiny part of his brain that still functioned he wondered how he’d ever imagined that he had a chance of winning this magnificent creature’s heart.

The silence stretched out between them, Sam was quite literally dumbstruck with awe, and Cas seemed unable or unwilling to say anything. But soon Cas’s face clouded over, and he looked to the side in a gesture that seemed almost sad. Carefully he folded his wings in so they weren’t crushed against the edges of the room, and Sam finally found his voice.

“ _Castiel…_ ” he breathed. For this wasn’t Cas; that affectionate nickname belonged to his friend, the one who found humans fascinating, who struggled with everyday things that everyone took for granted, the self-appointed guardian that the brothers loved and were fiercely protective towards. This was an Angel of the Lord, and Sam quailed before his glory.

Cas looked back down at Sam, and the hunter felt his heart drop at the sadness in his eyes.

“I didn’t mean…” Cas said, looking away again and sighing. “I’m… I’m sorry, Sam. I was so angry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Sam opened his mouth and closed it a few times, fighting to find the right words, the words that weren’t ‘ _Castiel, I love you_ ,’ which was all he could seem to think at that moment.

“I’ve never shown anyone my wings before,” Cas said, twisting his fingers uncertainly, a very human gesture that he’d picked up from Sam at some point. Sam’s heart swooped because clearly Cas thought the hunter was rejecting him, after being courageous enough to show Sam how very inhuman he truly was. And then soared, because if Cas was sharing this with him, it meant he cared. He cared. But how much?

“Cas…” Sam whispered, “They’re magnificent. More than magnificent. There…there aren’t words.” He swallowed hard, and felt his hand twitch. Cas saw the movement, and Sam saw his eyes widen.

“Do… do you want to touch them?” Cas asked, hesitantly, as though afraid he would say yes, or maybe no, Sam wasn’t sure which.

“Yes,” Sam said truthfully, because he wanted that more than anything in the world at that moment. “But,” he added, “only if you want me to.”

Cas looked at him, looked _through_ him in that way that the angel seemed to do when trying to judge the sincerity of a human’s words.

“Yes,” Cas said at last, his voice even huskier than usual. “Yes, I want you to. Very much.”

Sam smiled, and saw Cas’s small smile in response, and it was such an intimate moment that Sam felt his heart thump almost painfully in his chest, and his body react with an appalling predictability. Quickly, before Cas could feel that Sam’s body had remembered who was pinning it to the bed, he wiggled his way out from under the angel, kneeling at the head of the bed, almost nose-to-nose with his friend. Staring into Cas’s face, making sure he wasn’t discomforting the angel he slowly, very, very slowly, reached out and brushed his fingers down a wing, marveling at the feel of the feathers under his touch. Cas’s reaction was immediate, his eyes went wide, a soft blush crept across his cheekbones and, more interestingly, even though he had no need to breathe Sam saw his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Sam bit his lip, feeling himself getting almost unbearably hard, the sight of the angel’s obvious desire almost too much for him to bear.

“You like that, sweetheart?” he asked quietly, knowing his voice was coming out rough with desire, but completely unable to soften his tone. His hand where it was still gently touching Cas’s wings started to tremble, and Cas locked eyes with him, nodding.

Sam swallowed hard. He’d sworn he wouldn’t hurt Cas, or trick him, or in any way force him into bed. But, if Cas wanted him, which was as close to a miracle as Sam knew he’d ever get, then he wasn’t about to stop.

“Cas… what do you want?” he asked softly, in unconscious mimicry of the question Cas had asked when Sam had trapped him in the circle of fire. But this time it was Sam who was completely at Cas’s mercy, held not by fire, but by love.

Cas bit his lip and looked away, and Sam almost groaned aloud, withdrawing his hand while the angel made up his mind. And Sam desperately needed Cas to make a decision soon; he was already fighting a losing battle against the tide of desire, and if things kept going the way they were he'd soon end up coming before he was even touched. As he waited Sam’s eyes treacherously drifted across the sinful expanse of Cas’s chest, which just begged to have his hands on it, and lower, to where it was quite evident that Cas was in as bad a shape as he was.

Sam struggled internally again; Cas’s vessel was not necessarily _him_ , if his vessel wanted Sam that was one thing. If _Cas_ wanted him it was quite another.

Finally Cas looked back and reached out a tentative hand, resting it on Sam’s shoulder where it had lain so many nights, holding back Sam’s nightmares.

The angel’s touch was, as always, like a bolt of lightning straight to Sam’s cock, and this time he couldn’t hold the groan in.

“Fuck… Cas…” he hissed as the angel’s hand moved curiously from his shoulder, brushing tentatively against his neck. His felt his hands twitch, he desperately wanted to touch Cas, or failing that to touch _himself_ , but with more strength than Sam knew he possessed he held back, letting the angel go at his own pace, not guiding or influencing him in any way.

Then Cas’s hand moved to his face, cupping Sam’s cheek. Sam closed his eyes, unable to stand the intensity of the angel’s gaze any longer. Somehow that made the feel of the angel’s hands that much more intense, and he felt himself starting to breathe in ragged gasps. Cas’s fingers gently explored his face, tracing the curve of his lips, the arc of his jaw, and drifting back downwards to his chest. Sam suddenly felt cold air on his body and realized with a start that Cas had mojoed his shirt away.

“Sit back,” Cas commanded, and Sam opened his eyes, to see that Cas had moved on from curious desire to outright longing. Sam instantly obeyed, sitting back against the headboard, his legs stretched out along the mattress. As agile as a cat, even with his wings hampering his movements, Cas swung his legs over Sam’s hips again, and leaned forward until there was only an inch of space between them. Sam thumped a fist against the mattress and hissed through his teeth as the angel settled himself to his satisfaction, and still, _and still,_ managed to keep his hands to himself.

Cas looked at him with that curious head-tilt that Sam loved so much.

“Don’t you want to touch me?” Cas asked, sounding disappointed.

“Oh, Cas,” Sam breathed. “Of course I do, sweetheart. But only if it’s what you want. After… after everything, I need to know that you’re doing this because you want to, not because I want you to.”

Cas huffed out a small laugh, and rustled his wings meaningfully. The angel’s strong fingers grabbed Sam’s hand where it was gripping the sheets, and placed it gently against his waist. Sam sucked in a breath, the feeling of finally, _finally_ , having Cas’s smooth skin under his hand too intense to describe. Experimentally he ran his thumb across the jut of a hip bone, captivated by Cas’s startled reaction. Slowly he brought his other hand up and curled it behind Cas’s neck and gently, watching Cas every moment for any signs of fear or hesitation, Sam coaxed the angel forward, until their lips finally touched.

 

Sam’s reaction to seeing his wings had shifted something inside Cas, and the gentle touch of the hunter’s hand to his feathers, an angel’s most prized feature, had fractured the last of the hesitation, the last of the doubts and fears.

Cas wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted from Sam, but he knew it involved them being as close as possible. As gently as he knew how Cas reached out his hand and touched Sam, the way he had most nights before Sam had regained his memories. But feeling his friend’s body heat through the shirt was suddenly no longer enough. Slowly he drifted his fingers across to the expanse of Sam’s neck, feeling a sensation like a jolt of electricity run down his hand as his fingers came into contact with exposed flesh. His heart, which should have been steady as a rock, sped up until Cas was sure it was going to explode out of his chest. Breathing hard, another sign that he was fast losing control of his vessel, Cas curiously traced his fingers across Sam’s familiar and beloved features. Sam’s reaction was fascinating, and Cas found he wanted to make the hunter moan again, to feel him tremble under his hands.

And now Sam’s lips were touching his own, and if Cas had thought the feelings he was experiencing couldn’t get any more intense, he soon found that he was very wrong. Cas could no longer focus on anything except the feeling of Sam’s soft, slightly chapped lips capturing his own, and on the warm, musky scent that belonged solely to the hunter. It was a gentle kiss, and Cas suddenly found he desperately wanted _more_. Urgently he pushed himself forward, pressing his mouth harder against Sam’s, but the hunter gently put his hands up and held his face, holding him still. Then Sam’s tongue brushed lightly against his lower lip, and instinctively Cas opened his mouth.

The next seconds blurred into a haze as Sam leisurely explored his mouth, the touch of the hunter’s tongue to his own an almost unbearable ecstasy. When Sam pulled back Cas instinctively tried to follow him, and he felt more than heard Sam’s low, throaty chuckle.

“I need to breathe, love,” Sam grinned, and there was so much affection in his tone that Cas felt something inside him, a tension he hadn’t even known existed, finally relax.

“Now, Cas,” Sam said, suddenly intent, his gaze sharpening. “Do you trust me?” Cas nodded, still too shell-shocked by the events of the last few minutes to reply. But Sam waited patiently, and Cas licked his lips, noting with interest the reaction that simple gesture elicited from the hunter.

“Yes,” he whispered, and Sam nodded. Cas allowed the hunter to lay him carefully back on the bed, spreading his wings so they didn’t bunch up under his body. Sam placed a pillow under his head and Cas smiled at this instinctively caring gesture, the difference between the two Sams never more obvious than in this moment.

Sam’s hair was falling across his face, and hesitantly Cas reached up a hand, tucking a strand of that silky hair behind Sam’s ear. Sam looked down at him then, and Cas suddenly felt like he could drown in those eyes, they were so full of awe and wonder.

“Cas…” Sam whispered, bending down to kiss him. And then the hunter’s mouth was tracing a line down towards Cas’s chest, and as Sam paused to mouth at his neck Cas started to squirm, desperate for Sam to touch him _everywhere!_

“Soon, baby… soon. I promise,” Sam whispered against his skin, and Cas realized with a blush that he must have spoken out loud. Sam’s mouth continued its journey, and when Sam took a hard nipple into his mouth, sucking and grazing the hard nub between his teeth, rolling the other one between a thumb and a finger, Cas felt himself let out a high, soft whine of need. Sam’s hands and mouth stilled as the hunter raised his head, looking at Cas with eyes that were dark with desire. Cas shivered in anticipation of what those eyes promised, and Sam suddenly withdrew his hands, his expression changing to one of fear as he sat up and looked searchingly into Cas’s face.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, are you ok?” Sam asked anxiously. Cas shook his head, then cursed himself as all the blood drained from Sam’s face. Cas hesitated, knowing that Sam thought he'd changed his mind, but unable to find the right words to reassure his friend. Eventually he grabbed Sam’s face in his hands and stared into his eyes.

Cas didn’t know how to phrase his request, so he just said the first thing he could think of, hoping Sam would understand what he needed.

“ _Touch. Me!_ ” he gritted out, and sighed with relief as Sam’s face relaxed into a relieved grin.

“Anything you want, angel,” Sam murmured, and as the hunter leaned down to capture Cas’s mouth with his own his fever-warm hand slid slowly down Cas’s chest, over the waistband of his pants, and palmed Cas’s aching erection through his clothes. Cas tried to moan again, but Sam’s mouth was still sealed over his own, their tongues blissfully entwined, so all he managed was a quiet noise in the back of his throat.

Cas suddenly realized how much better it would feel if there were no clothes between him and Sam’s hand, and as quickly as he thought it every last stitch of clothing disappeared from their bodies. He thought he felt Sam grin against his mouth, but all higher brain function left completely as Sam’s hand came into contact with his rock-hard erection for the first time.

           

When Cas mojoed the last of their clothes away, and Sam’s own erection rubbed against Cas’s naked thigh, Sam had to fight with all his willpower not to come right then and there. As he ran his hand firmly along the length of the angel’s cock, gently rubbing his thumb over the head and then reaching down to roll his balls in his hand, Sam saw the look that came over Cas’s face, and knew his angel wasn’t going to last much longer. Cas’s cerulean eyes were glazed with passion, and his kiss-swollen lips were slightly parted as he let out breathy moans, thrusting against Sam’s hand. The sight alone was enough to bring Sam to the brink.

“ _Cas_... oh fuck...you’re _so gorgeous_ ," Sam groaned, knowing it was now time to show his angel why humans spent so much time practicing this particular Deadly Sin.

Shifting position he wrapped his now-slick hand around both Cas’s cock and his own; the feeling causing Sam to practically stop breathing, and eliciting a deep, husky moan from Cas that sent yet another jolt of pleasure down his spine. And then Sam, using an elbow to steady himself, reached his other hand as far as he could and carded his fingers through Cas’s midnight black feathers, amazed anew at the luxuriously soft feel of them under his hand.

“ _Sam…_ ” Cas hissed, his eyes wild with need.

“Shh, I know, baby,” Sam whispered, feeling a mind-blowing orgasm building and hoping he could hold on for just a few seconds longer. “It’s ok, Cas. I’ve got you. Let go, Angel...let it all go.” With one last practiced grasp of his hand he bent down and touched his lips to Cas’s, a gentle, loving gesture.

“Come for me, Castiel,” he murmured against the angel’s lips, staring into his eyes, wanting to see the angel’s expression as he came undone under his touch. And then Cas’s mouth dropped open in an expression of stunned bliss, and Sam came so hard he practically blacked out.

 

Cas had never felt anything even close to the feeling that unfurled in him at the touch of Sam’s hands, but it certainly explained a lot of things about humans he hadn’t previously understood. The intimacy of the moment he'd just shared with the hunter was so profound it felt like the whole world had changed, as if his life as an Angel had been behind some kind of curtain that was now pulled away, allowing him to see the world properly for the first time. Almost immediately he found himself wondering when, or if, Sam would like to do this again.

“In a little while, love,” Sam laughed, his face pressed against Cas’s neck, his arms and legs wrapped around him in an almost possessive fashion, which gave the angel a strange feeling of smug happiness. Cas blushed, realizing he’d once again voiced his thoughts out loud without meaning to. Absently, and with much more of an idea of why he enjoyed doing it so much, he reached a hand up and drifted his fingers gently through Sam’s hair, the sigh that simple gesture drew from the hunter causing goosebumps to spring up all over Cas’s vessel.

When he felt Sam drifting off Cas very, very carefully reached out his senses, and with the gentlest of brushes against Sam’s mind confirmed that the wall was holding strong. Only then did he allow himself to finally relax, putting all his thoughts and questions and worries out of his mind, content just to feel Sam breathe, to hear the comforting, steady thump of his heart, and to savor the feeling of the long, lean body pressed up against his own.

Cas sighed, content, knowing that they had all night to do all the things he suddenly wanted so badly to do, and to tell Sam all the things he suddenly so desperately wanted to tell him.

 

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me so far, and for your kudos and comments, they mean the world to me! You guys are the best! Millions of hugs!


	4. Sacrifice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the extremely slow update, I was finding it much harder than I thought I would to write Sam as the bad guy, and I also had trouble finding the right balance between what’s necessary to progress the story vs. how much I could bring myself to put Cas through. This chapter is also much shorter than usual, more of a set-up for what’s to come.  
> Anyway, that’s enough from me, onward to Sam and Cas!  
> WARNING: Serious non-con elements in this chapter.

Cas lay on a hard, lumpy bed in a dark, dingy motel room, and reflected that not even millennia in Heaven had prepared him for the bliss of this moment. Sam’s arms held him tightly, as though the hunter couldn’t bear to let him go even as he slept, and Cas found he couldn’t stop touching his lover’s warm skin; he craved the contact, not for any erotic reason, just to feel the comfort of connection. He felt Sam’s heart speed up a little at his touch, the feeling of it beating against his side making his own heart swell with fierce protectiveness, and other emotions Cas had no name for. He turned his head slightly, brushing his lips against the hunter’s hair, and smiled as Sam shifted sleepily against him, making a soft noise of contentment that soothed the angel in a way he couldn’t really explain. The smile felt unfamiliar on his face, it wasn’t an expression he was used to wearing, and he suddenly realized that finally, after a life filled with abandonment and indifference, he felt complete. At peace.

So it came as a total shock when that peace was abruptly, violently broken.

Without any warning Sam started to shake like a leaf in a tornado, his grip on Cas turning from comforting to painful, his muscles and tendons tensing so much that Cas clearly heard hundreds of tiny blood vessels bursting from the strain.

“Sam!” Cas cried urgently, holding the hunter tightly to him, his iron grip only just keeping the violent tremors under control. He suddenly felt something wet run across his chest, and noticed with terror that blood was streaming from Sam’s nose and ears. Quicker than thought he had a hand on Sam’s forehead, urgently pouring every ounce of his healing powers into the distressed hunter, which did absolutely nothing except confirm Cas’s worst fears. This wasn’t a physical ailment.

Panicked, Cas tried again and again to rouse the hunter, shaking his shoulder and yelling for him to wake up, but to no avail. In fact, the more Cas yelled and touched him, the more agitated Sam became, the exact opposite reaction the angel had come to expect.

Cas’s thoughts abruptly scattered, he couldn’t think straight, couldn’t focus, couldn’t decide what to do. He felt as helpless as any human, which was a deeply disturbing revelation for the angel. Finally, after seconds that seemed to last years, Cas collected himself enough to send a tendril of thought into Sam’s mind, searching for the reason for his friend’s distress. 

When Cas couldn’t immediately feel Sam’s presence he realized with dismay that the hunter was buried well below the level of surface thought, somewhere Cas would never usually dare to tread, afraid of unforgivably violating the sanctity of Sam’s self. Such an act couldn’t be classified as possession, an angel couldn’t possess a human without permission, but it would be close. And a serious breach of trust.

Sam jerked in his arms again, and Cas distinctly heard something crack under his hands. At that sound any thought of preserving Sam’s privacy vanished as if it had never been, and Cas flung his consciousness deep into the Sam’s mind, his vessel still holding the hunter protectively in its arms.

* * *

 

As Cas’s body slumped backwards, his consciousness nearly entirely occupied by Sam’s dreams, Crowley materialized next to the bed. He looked down at the two forms entwined on the mattress, and, feeling an uncharacteristic prick of shame at his intrusion, quickly pulled the covers up to their waists. 

As he stepped backwards the demon found his eyes helplessly drawn to Cas’s vulnerable form, captivated by the ethereal beauty of the angel which was now enhanced a thousand-fold by the magnificence of his wings. Those heart-stopping, glorious wings, the very embodiment of an angel’s grace and power, tugged mercilessly at the part of Crowley that appreciated beautiful things, and the demon found he was mildly outraged that Cas had brought forth such an intrinsic part of himself for the inspection of a mere mortal. Some things were not meant for human eyes.

“Careless, Thursday,” Crowley muttered grimly to himself, wondering if he dared to steal a feather. He itched to do more than that, after all, he’d never have a better chance to place his hands on the angel, to imprison him, corrupt him, _break_ him… really destroy the insufferable nobility that shone from Cas like a beacon. However, practicality held him back, and something else that Crowley didn’t care to examine too closely. Hesitantly he reached out, his fingertips just brushing the glossy plumage, and then immediately pulled back with a hiss of surprise and pain, looking with bemusement at the angry red burns on his fingers.

“Not as helpless as you look then. Good to know,” the King of Hell muttered as he gazed contemplatively at the tableau on the bed. He hesitated, then unfocused his eyes, looking past Cas’s meat suit, surprised when he didn’t even have to squint against the blaze of Grace.

It had often amused the demon that the Winchesters mostly treated the angel as just another human, when Crowley could so easily see the blazing wildfire of power and glory that was Castiel, the Angel of the Lord. But that blaze was now nothing more than a dim glow, meaning Cas had sent enough of himself into Sam to cause some serious damage.

“So, angel, what made you risk breaking your new toy?” Crowley mused as he looked more closely at the other occupant of the bed, noting the signs of struggle, the smears of blood across the hunter’s face, the odd angle of a dislocated or broken shoulder. And at the fiercely protective way the human and the angel held each other, even in unconsciousness. It baffled the demon. No ordinary human should have been able to hold an angel’s attention like that. Especially not Cas’s.

There had always been something different about Castiel, they all felt it, not just the humans. Sure, the bond Dean and Castiel shared was no joke, and Sam’s devotion to the angel bordered on worship. But at the end of the day, despite everything, the Winchesters were still just humans, and Crowley couldn’t care less about their opinions. It was the _angel’s_ reactions to Cas that had first alerted him that his erstwhile nemesis wasn’t just some run-of-the-mill Seraph.

After some doing some digging the King of Hell had discovered some very interesting titbits from Cas’s past. Before he’d left Heaven Gabriel had reportedly doted on Castiel, dragging him all over creation like a favourite toy, lavishing him with the same sort of fierce love Dean showered on his younger brother. But, as one by one Heaven’s favorite sons and greatest weapons, Lucifer, Gadreel and Gabriel, fell, or failed, or abandoned their posts, Cas’s excursions were slowly curtailed, until eventually he was only ever assigned duties that kept him within Heaven’s borders. And, on the rare occasions when he did leave, he was always accompanied by at least one of the more senior angels.

The conclusion was as interesting as it was inescapable; the celestial host had been terrified of losing Castiel the way they had lost their best and brightest. And Crowley thought he knew why. Cas was the angel the other angels wanted to be, the angel they should have been. He was Heaven’s trump card, as strong and dangerous as the best of their warrior caste, but with a core of compassion, purity and righteousness that remained untouchable, even as he careened from disaster to disaster, even as he fought his brother and sister angels in the civil war.

It was no accident that Cas had been the one sent to bring the Righteous Man back from Perdition. It was also no surprise that he had been the one to foil Lucifer, and to do the impossible in bringing Sam back from the Cage. And now he was trying to do something just as impossible, and even more stupid, putting all of Crowley’s plans at risk. And that couldn’t be allowed to happen. Not when they were so close.

“Well, pet,” he murmured, “I guess I’d better go fetch you. You’ll thank me for this later. Or burn me to ash. I figure the odds are about even on that one.” And with that Crowley quickly and brutally burned off the unconscious hunter's anti-possession tattoo, before abandoning his vessel in a spiral of red smoke. He swirled in the air for a moment, hesitating, before finally drifting down and entering the human who had won the heart of an angel.

* * *

 

The first thing Cas noticed was the ring of fire, and immediately his heart sank. Slowly he moved closer, mentally stealing himself for what he would see, and felt the now-familiar burn of tears behind his eyes as he fully took in the scene before him. Sam, the soulless version - which ‘real’ Sam’s mind’s eye had given a vaguely demonic visage – had grabbed memory-Cas, and was tearing the clothes from his body while the angel struggled helplessly, beating his fists against ‘Sam’s’ chest, his eyes wide with terror and shock. But it was the sight of the real Sam, not the distorted memories, that broke Cas’s heart. The hunter was wild with rage and grief, stalking around the fire, hurling obscenities and threats at his soulless self; in some kind of twisted dream logic he seemed as unable to cross the barrier as Cas himself had been.

“Don’t you fucking _touch_ him!” Sam screamed. “That’s Castiel! Do you hear me, you bastard?! That’s _Cas_ , for fuck’s sake. How _dare_ you?! Take your filthy fucking hands off him!” The soulless Sam looked up, winked at his counterpart, and fell to his knees, dragging his victim with him. The real Sam flew at him in a rage, only to be rebuffed as though he’d run straight into a brick wall. He picked himself up and tried again. And again.

 “Castiel!” he yelled wildly, as the memory Cas began to whimper in fear, “Oh my God. You fucking bastard! I’ll kill you! _I’ll shred the skin from your fucking bones!_ Cas! Cas, sweetheart, I’m here, I’m coming to get you, just hold on!” He threw himself at the flames again and again, beating himself almost senseless against them, blood running from his face and his hands, his left arm dangling at an odd angle.

Cas shook his head in dismay. This wasn’t just a dream, it was too vivid, too real, and too far below the surface of Sam’s thoughts. Cas knew from visiting Dean in his dreams that a mortal’s dreamscape was usually disjointed, and had a strange, expansive, blurry quality. This was too contained; the only thing he could see in the vast, blank space was the circle of fire and its occupants. And, in the background, a looming shadow that Cas’s very essence instinctively shied away from.

Cas watched for a few moments longer, coming to the inescapable conclusion that this ‘dream’ was actually Sam going to war with the memories of his soulless self. The angel felt a vague dread, like a premonition of grief; if a memory like this was that strong, what would happen if Lucifer’s memory ever broke through?

Cas glanced again at his other self, at the helpless rage on his face as ‘Sam’ pressed him to the floor, the hunter pulling his head back to expose the tender flesh of his neck. Cas winced as the soulless Sam bit into that exposed expanse of skin, marking the memory-Cas as his. The possessive spite inherent in that act was an almost palpable force, and Cas briefly looked away, shuddering.

Then the scene turned violent and sickening, and he quickly waved his hand in a sweeping motion. He only had as much power in this place as Sam believed he had, and so he was deeply relieved when the image faded, leaving nothing in the space but Sam kneeling, head bowed, tears and blood dripping from his face to form a macabre puddle on the floor.

Cas moved quickly over to Sam, who was staring with confusion at the spot where the half-memory had been playing out, and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. Sam started violently and jumped to his feet, shame flashing across his tear-stained face when he saw the angel. They stood that way for a while; Cas was unwilling to startle Sam further, knowing that any action he took this deep in the hunter’s mind could have devastating repercussions, and it took Sam a long time to find his voice again.

“Cas… Cas I’m so sorry. I can’t… I can’t even begin… I just…,” Sam eventually managed, his broken voice laden with shame and self-loathing.

Cas carefully reached out a hand, and gently wiped the tears from his lover’s face. When Sam eventually closed his eyes, hesitantly leaning into his touch, Cas stepped forward, enfolding the hunter in his arms.

“It’s ok, Sam, I’m safe. You’re safe,” he said softly. “I’m here now. I’ve got you.”

Cas felt Sam shudder against him, his now-healed arms cautiously tightening around the angel’s back as Cas made some vague soothing noises, the way he might comfort a wild animal.

Eventually Sam pulled back and looked searchingly into his face. “Cas…” he started, but the angel leaned in, silencing him with a quick kiss.

“That’s not how it really happened, Sam,” he said, gently.

“It’s how it would have happened,” Sam replied, unsteadily. “If you weren’t… who you are… that’s how it would have happened.”

“Maybe,” Cas acknowledged. “Maybe not. For someone who didn’t have a soul you were surprisingly gentle. You wanted me to want you. You wanted that control over me, more than you wanted my body.”

Sam thought about the implications of that, and shuddered.

“Why now?” Cas asked after the hunter had regained a modicum of composure. Sam understood straight away; another thing Cas had always found fascinating about humans was their ability to extrapolate context from very little information. It was a skill Cas knew he didn’t, and would probably never, posses.

“I’m not sure,” Sam said with a self-conscious shrug. “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. The only thing I can think of is you and I… umm…” Sam blushed, yet another reaction Cas found amusing. He knew there was no need to be ashamed of what they’d done. Quite the opposite.

“Well,” Sam hastily continued, “it’s what that… animal… part of me wanted, and that might have brought it back to the fore.”

Cas nodded, it was plausible, but it didn’t explain everything. Sam’s personality shouldn’t still be split; his soul should have fully integrated back into his body, giving him complete control over it. Unless… Cas looked past Sam to the structure they’d both been determinedly ignoring. The huge wall stretched across the back of Sam’s consciousness, as black and smooth as obsidian, and as Cas gazed upon it he couldn’t suppress a shiver. This close he could _feel_ the malevolence behind it, and the madness.

It suddenly occurred to Cas that with such a large part of Sam’s life imprisoned – and by far the largest amount of time the hunter had been ‘alive’ had been spent in the Cage - it would be nearly impossible for Sam’s soul to integrate properly with his body.

That was ok, they could deal with that. The memories would fade, and as Sam’s life continued and he made new, happier memories, he would become stronger, more in charge of himself. As long as the wall was intact, anything else could be dealt with in time.

With that in mind Cas swept his gaze along the wall’s surface, looking for the cracks he knew were there, and immediately felt his heart stutter with a deep, visceral terror. The soulless Sam’s memories _had_ cracked the wall, deeply cracked it, but that wasn’t the worst part. They weren’t on one side of wall or the other - they weren’t part of Sam’s soul, just his mind - and so they’d become a bridge, growing across the wall like a cancer.

Cas realized with a crashing wave of dread that he’d been too late. Sam had obviously replayed that fateful night over and over, probing at it like a sore tooth, cementing the memory, feeding it, adding to it… because the bridge was almost complete, and something evil was using it to reach through from the other side of the wall. He could _feel_ it.

Just as he reached that horrifying conclusion, Crowley suddenly appeared right in front of them. Cas looked at Sam in surprise. “Crowley?” the angel asked, nonplussed. “He wasn’t there that night.”

“Wasn’t I?” Crowley asked with a smirk.

Sam frowned at the demon, then shook his head wearily. “Don’t look at me, Cas, whenever I imagine Crowley it’s with horns and a tail.”

“Really?” Crowley asked with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t know if I’m flattered or offended. Although, I imagine you with antlers and a stupid expression, so I guess we’re even.”

The demon looked around and crinkled his nose. “Love what you’ve done with the place,” he murmured, shooting a look at Cas that the angel couldn’t decipher, then reaching out to put a hand on Sam’s shoulder.

“Sleep now, Moose. And whatever you do, don’t dream.”

* * *

 

 As Sam disappeared, pushed to the background of his mind by Crowley’s presence in his body, Cas turned on the demon.

“You’re really here?!” he snarled. “How _dare_ you possess Sam without his permission?! Get out! Get out of him _right now!_ ”

“Well, that’s nice,” Crowley sniffed. “You think I _want_ to be inside a Winchester? That’s more your thing than mine.”

Cas ground his teeth, clearly aware that he was being mocked, and just as clearly not quite sure how to respond.

“Why _are_ you here then?” he finally snapped, narrowing his eyes.

Crowley sighed. He’d actually shown up at the motel only to check that Cas wasn’t telling Sam about their Purgatory deal, not to get mixed up in another Winchester-centered mess. But it had been obvious almost immediately that Lucifer’s influence was rising in the hunter, and he knew he could do the one thing for Sam that Castiel couldn’t, use possession to lock his subconscious away from the fallen angel’s power. But he hadn’t done it for Sam, he’d done it to put Cas even further in his debt. 

“I wanted to talk to you about our deal, and discovered your little predicament. I thought I’d help. We’re partners, after all.”

Cas seemed mollified by this explanation and Crowley grinned inwardly, then shuddered. “But never in my wildest nightmares did I think you’d _sleep_ with the poor, hapless human. I mean, really, Cas. Firstly, ick. Secondly, lover-boy’s worst memory is tied up _with exactly this scenario!_ What did you _think_ was going to happen?”

Cas growled, a feral sound with enough warning behind it to give even a demon of Crowley’s stature pause. “You told me he’d be fine if he forgave himself!”

“I said no such thing!” Crowley snapped. “I gave you the best of a bad bunch of options, the others being variations of ‘put him out of his misery.’ I might be the King of Hell, but I’ll always be a Crossroads demon. I know souls, and this one has been shredded, _mutilated_. The wall was only ever going to be a temporary fix, you knew that. And besides, this...” Crowley made an obscene gesture at the bridge, “is worse than even I expected.”

Cas hung his head, the rage leaving him as quickly as it had come, despair rushing in to replace it. “Can’t we fix it?” the angel asked softy, no real hope in his voice.

Crowley shook his head. “You’ve had your grubby angel fingers all over the unfortunate sasquatch’s soul, can’t you feel the difference in it now?”

Cas hesitated, then stretched out his senses. Having touched Sam’s soul directly he could easily feel the soft, high-pitched hum it made as it vibrated slightly between the mortal and immortal planes. But now he could also feel what Crowley was talking about, a discordant note in the soul song that set the angel’s teeth on edge.

“Bloody Winchesters,” Crowley sighed.

They were both silent for a moment, allowing the full import of the situation to sink in.

It was Crowley who broke the silence first. “Well, duckie, we need to get out here before Lucifer’s memory comes over that wall. A battle in his mind between angels, even if one of them isn’t strictly real, will kill your precious Sam, and probably you as well.”

Cas nodded reluctantly, but didn’t move, still staring blankly at the wall. Crowley looked at his sometime-ally more closely, and was shocked to see tears streaming down the angel’s face.

“Oh, Cassie,” he breathed. He’d never heard of an angel weeping before, after all, the angelic host were universally known for their cold, unfeeling stoicism, and there was something so poignant and tragic about Castiel’s distress that the demon felt a strong, unwelcome tug of emotion.

He coughed to cover up his momentary weakness, and reached out a hand, feeling the evil presence on the other side of the wall getting closer with every passing second. “We have to go, kitten. Come on. Come away now,” Crowley coaxed, and eventually Cas nodded, reaching out to grab his hand, allowing himself to be pulled away. Together the angel and the demon fled the hunter’s troubled mind, returning to the relative safety of their borrowed human forms.

* * *

 

Crowley sat on the edge of the bed, watching as Cas unselfconsciously dressed himself, shaking out his wings before vanishing them back to the immortal plane. Crowley again felt the unmistakable tug of subtle magnetism that all angels possessed in one form or another, and felt fleetingly sorry for Sam. The hunter hadn’t stood a chance.

“I’m going to take him to Bobby’s,” Cas said at last. “When your influence fades he’ll wake up, and then he’ll need his brother. And we might have to restrain him before he tries to take his own life, or someone else’s.”

“Perceptive of you,” Crowley said with a sigh, outwardly indifferent, but inwardly frustrated. He bit his tongue, but then couldn’t hold the angry words back any longer. After all, he was a demon. Restraint wasn’t really part of his MO.

“Look, Cas, I get that this has been an issue for you, but there’s nothing more you can do. And you _owe_ me. I’ve helped you in your war, _and_ with this mess, which wasn’t part of the deal. Now you’re supposed to help me secure Purgatory. You can’t help Sam, it’s too late. You’re not an archangel.”

Cas stiffened. “What did you say?” he whispered, and Crowley felt a powerful stab of alarm at the look on the angel’s face.

“No, Cas! Ye gods and little fishes, you stupid… you can’t be _serious!”_

Cas turned to the demon with a manic gleam in his eyes.

“Oh yes, I can. Raphael wants me? He can have me. And you’re going to give me to him.”

“I am not your errand boy, Castiel,” Crowley snarled, but the angel wasn’t listening.

“In return for my life my brother will give you Purgatory…the power of all those souls will be as irresistible to him as it is to you. He’ll also save Sam, if for no other reason than that he’s Lucifer’s intended vessel.” Cas sighed and looked away, “and,” he continued softly, “it will get me out of your way permanently. What more could you possibly want?”

“He’ll restart the apocalypse, you moron! That’s why we’re fighting him in the first place!” Crowley clenched his fists in the bedspread, the urge to clamp them around the insufferable angel’s neck almost overpowering.

“The world ended for me tonight anyway,” Cas said sadly, watching the slow, shallow rise and fall of Sam’s chest, the only indication that the hunter was still alive.

Crowley grasped at that sentence, seeing in it a way to persuade the angel out of his insane plan, before he brought doom upon the whole world, and worse, ruined all of Crowley’s carefully crafted plans.

“What about Sam?” the demon asked slyly, “He endured unimaginable horrors to stop the apocalypse. What do you think he’ll say when he finds out you’ve undone everything he sacrificed himself for?”

Cas went very still. The demon almost relaxed, almost thought Cas was going to see reason…until the angel spoke.

“I don’t know. But at least he’ll be alive to hate me for it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know! Yikes! I'm sorry! I'll (probably) make it up to them in the next chapter ;)  
> As always, thanks for reading! Your kudos, comments and encouragement make me do a happy dance! :D


	5. Redemption

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, here we go. I feel bad for what I did to Sam and Cas, but I wanted to write about forgiveness and redemption, and that sort of thing never comes from a happy place. Hope you guys enjoyed it, and hopefully this chapter makes up for everything that came before.  
> Warning… Well, if you’re this far in warnings aren’t going to tell you anything you don’t already know :) But here it is anyway! Warning: Violence. Hanky panky (so much!). Angst. Feels. The usual!

Sam came back to himself in Bobby’s panic room. He groaned, tried to sit up, and found, to his dismay, that he was firmly manacled to the bed.

“What…” he said groggily, and then Cas was there, his hand on his forehead, looking deeply, warily, into his eyes. That look abruptly reminded Sam of the dream, and he groaned again, turning his face away from the angel in shame. At least, Sam thought grimly, Cas had finally come to his senses, and realized he needed to be restrained before he did any more harm.

And so he was more than a little surprised, and alarmed, when Cas crawled on top of him, turning his head and pressing a kiss urgently to his lips, holding his face as though cradling the most precious thing in the world.

With a rush of fear the hunter wrenched his head away.

“ _Cas!_ ” Sam practically yelled. “What are you doing? That’s a goodbye kiss! What… _What’s going on?!”_

“How do you _do_ that?” Cas groaned, sitting back and running his hands across his face, a gesture that was so filled with distress Sam wanted to scream. “How can you _tell_ from just a _kiss?_ I don’t _understand!_ ”

“Stop avoiding the question!” Sam growled, a powerful surge of rage and despair rushing through him, a feeling not entirely his own. And behind that, something else stirred in his chest. Something dark, and powerful, and malevolent.

Sam caught his breath, deliberately calming himself. After a few deep breaths in… and out… and in again, he looked up into the ancient blue eyes above him. For several heartbeats the hunter and the angel gazed at each other, and Sam was the first to look away.

“Cas… please. Tell me.”

“Basically, you’re screwed,” came another voice. Crowley. Sam turned his head, and, as he caught the eyes of the demon, felt a haze of red flash across his vision.

 

_Flames. Lucifer hunkered down next to his cowering form._

_“Your Angel is gone. Your brother can’t help you. You are mine for_ eternity, _Sam.”_

_Agony, far beyond anything he should have been able to endure and still remain conscious._

_The loathsome smell of burning hair and flesh. Screams tearing from his throat._

He fell back, gasping.

“Fuck,” he said, succinctly.

“Yeah,” said yet another familiar voice. Dean this time. Sam didn’t turn his head, keeping his eyes squeezed shut, concentrating on the warmth of the angel, who was still sitting half on top of him.

The silence stretched.

“Kill me,” Sam said at last, his voice calm, devoid of emotion or hesitation. Shocked gasps came from two of the occupants of the room, a sigh of almost-pleasure from the third. Sam ignored Crowley and focused his attention where it would do the most good, acutely aware that he was running out of time, or more importantly, sanity.

“Cas, Dean, if you care for me at all, do this for me. Don’t let him have me. Not again. _Please._ ” Sam felt tears sting his eyes, and another flash of memory tore through him, leaving him gasping, sweating, terrified.

“ _Please!”_ he begged again, tearing at his restraints. “Cas, Castiel, please! Don’t let him have me. Don’t let him hurt me again! Dean! I’m your _brother!_ I can’t go through that again. Just fucking _kill me!_ ” The last two words were ripped from him in a scream that echoed around the chamber as Lucifer stood over him, blood and flesh… Sam’s blood and flesh… crusted under his fingernails, caught between his teeth, dripping from his hair. Sam felt his eyes roll back as every fibre of his being strove to get away from the monster standing over him.

“Well, that’s not what I expected,” said yet another voice, and Sam felt himself still. Even with the female vessel’s voice he knew who that was. Raphael. Cas’s deadliest enemy. Here.

A cold dread that had nothing to do with Lucifer, and everything to do with a completely different archangel, crawled across his skin.

“Cas,” he whispered, “what have you _done?_ ”

 

Castiel climbed off the bed, presumably in order to talk to Raphael, and Sam put the puzzle pieces together immediately.

Suddenly, now that Cas’s life was in such obvious danger, he realised he didn’t want to die. He wanted to _live_ , to wake up next to the angel every morning, to sleep next to him every night. To teach him about small human things, and be taught about love in return. To grow old, and die in his arms. Sane or not, having Lucifer in his head suddenly seemed a small price to pay for such bliss, especially since it was all about to be taken from him, and not on his terms.

“Well, what are you going to do about it, Sammy?” Lucifer asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, swinging his feet like a bored child. “I can help you, but you have to let me in.”

Sam hesitated.

“You can accept me now, and save Castiel, or you can let him die, and wait for me to wear you down, knowing you could have saved him,” Lucifer said, examining his fingernails. Then he turned his head fractionally, watching the closing moments of Cas and Raphael’s conversation.

“You’re out of time, Sam,” he hissed, the bored veneer dropping away, replaced by the monster who had tormented Sam for over a lifetime. _“Choose!”_

The time for hesitation was over. The wall shattered into a thousand pieces as Sam let go, opening himself fully to the memories, and to the fallen angel’s influence.

* * *

“I want you to know I take no pleasure in this,” Raphael said, and Dean shuddered at the tortured howl that ripped from his brother’s throat. Sam had clearly worked out what was about to happen, and Dean's heart broke for him.

“Really?” Cas asked, seeming genuinely surprised. “I would think it would make you happy. You’ve always hated me.”

“No, I haven’t, little brother,” Raphael sighed. “I hate what you are. What you represent. The way the others follow you blindly, foolishly. I don’t hate _you_. I’ll destroy you, yes, but only so you don’t destroy Heaven first.”

“The angels don’t follow me,” Cas said, indignant. “They rally _against_ you.”

Raphael and Crowley looked at each other and rolled their eyes, and even Dean felt a surge of affectionate exasperation at the angel’s naivety, even though that innocence was the _reason_ Cas was here, trading his life for Sam’s.

When Cas had approached him with his plan Dean had raged, and railed, and cajoled, and pleaded, and even shed tears. And then, when he’d found out about Cas’s deal with Crowley, he’d channeled that despair into anger, seeing it as the ultimate betrayal of trust. But eventually he had put all of that aside, as Cas had known he would, because it was Sam. And Dean and Cas agreed on one thing above all else, nothing mattered but Sam. The rest of the world could, and now probably would, burn.

That was when Dean realized his thoughts had gone off track, the wheels of his brain spinning, trying to shelter him from the unavoidable truth; that he was about to lose his best friend, and, if Raphael betrayed them, his brother as well. He firmly dragged his reluctant mind back to the scene before him. He owed it to Cas to stand witness.

“Ready, Castiel?” Raphael asked, his voice strangely gentle.

“Yes,” Cas replied, resolute.

 

After his initial outpouring of grief Sam had gone strangely silent, and Dean quickly glanced at the bed, hoping Sam was at the wrong angle to see Cas’s final moments. As his gaze met his brother’s he sucked in a sudden, shocked breath, completely unprepared for the sight that greeted him.

Sam was not Sam anymore. Or rather, he was, but his face contained such a depth of inhuman rage it was unrecognizable, more like looking into the maw of Hell itself than looking at his brother.

That was when Dean realized the truth. Sam had embraced Lucifer’s memory, broken the wall between them completely in order to be possessed by it, to gain its strength and power. He felt his mouth drop open in shock and disbelief, and out of the corner of his eye saw Crowley turn his head, following his gaze.

As Cas closed his eyes, and Raphael pulled out his angel blade, time seemed to slow, until everything that happened next seemed to happen at a crawl. Dean saw Sam bare his teeth, and _tear_ the manacles from the bed, completely shattering the chains that held them in place. His brother leaped from the bed, his bare feet barely touching the ground as he flew across the room, far faster than a human should have been able to move, almost too fast for Dean’s eyes to follow.

+++++++++++++++++++

Sam reached for the hand that held the angel blade, but saw instantly that he’d been too slow, he’d taken too long to decide. Immediately he changed trajectory.

Lucifer tried to stop him, to take complete control, but there was no room in the hunter for anything but fear, and Sam pushed him away with as little effort as brushing aside a cobweb.

+++++++++++++++++++

Raphael’s blade began to descend, the angel still unaware of what had happened, having dismissed the other occupants of the room as unimportant. And so he was as surprised as everyone else when Sam slipped between the blade and its intended victim.

Dean finally felt his body start to move, saw Crowley reach out an arm towards Sam. But it was too late. Far too late.

The horrifying sound the blade made as it entered Sam’s chest echoed in the chamber, and only then did Cas open his eyes, realizing something was badly wrong.

And Dean stopped his forward momentum and fell backwards, desperate to get away from the look on Cas’s face, which was, if anything, more terrifying than the look on Sam’s had been. Out of the corner of his eye Dean saw Crowley hunker down on his haunches, instinctively making himself a smaller target. Neither the demon, nor the angels, could leave by anything except walking, the wards saw to that, and Crowley was obviously regretting agreeing to those terms.

Cas wrapped his left arm around Sam’s stomach, his right hand ripping the angel blade from his chest with a nauseatingly wet, sucking sound. Finally Raphael began to move… he was fast, but Cas’s hand was faster, and the blade did its deadly work for the second time in as many seconds.

Cas had Sam on the floor, his hands pressed to the wound in his chest, before Raphael’s now-empty vessel hit the ground, the charred remnants of his wings coating the floor, and floating in the air like macabre confetti.

Dean made to move to his brother’s side, but a hand reached out and pulled him sharply backwards.

“Don’t,” Crowley said softly. “He’ll kill you if you touch Sam.”

As much as he wanted to say that Cas would never hurt him, one look at the angel’s face told Dean that the demon was right.

Then Dean distractedly noticed Crowley’s use of his brother’s real name, instead of an irritating nickname, and looked askance at the demon. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought that the King of Hell looked… awed.

Then he looked back at his brother, and felt the tears begin to fall as shock gave way to grief. Sam was gasping for air, blood pouring from his mouth and out of his chest, the unmistakable sucking sound of a punctured lung echoing in the quiet chamber. He kept trying to say something, but the words wouldn’t form, his hands grasped urgently at the angel’s coat, trying to get Cas’s attention, to tell him he loved him, or to say goodbye, Dean wasn’t sure.

Cas meanwhile was trying to heal the wound, but something was stopping him, maybe some remnant of the angel blade’s power, or Cas’s own grief and despair. The angel had his hands over the wound, the glow of Grace shining so brightly through his fingers Dean had to squint, but blood still poured unimpeded from underneath the angel’s hands.

Then Dean noticed the long, jagged burns that radiated from his brother’s wound.

“What… _why is he burned?_ ” Dean hissed, not realizing he’d spoken out loud until the demon answered him.

 “The angel blade killed Lucifer’s memory,” Crowley whispered distractedly, obviously not really paying attention to Dean, his eyes unfocused as he gazed at the scene before them, clearly watching something Dean couldn’t perceive with his human eyes.

“What, the memories are gone?” he asked, wonderingly.

“No,” Crowley hissed back, “but they’re just memories now, and old ones. Like a movie, or something that happened to someone else. They have no more power than that. The bit of Lucifer embedded in Sam’s soul from a hundred years of his tender care is gone. Now, _shut up!_ I’m trying to listen.”

Dean shut up.

 

“It’s not his time!” Cas cried to the air, and Dean shivered at the eerie, ringing quality of the angel’s voice. There was silence, although apparently he was the only one who heard nothing, his brother, the angel, and the demon were all listening to something beyond his ability to see or hear.

“Not because of me. _Not because of me!_ ” Cas cried out, shaking his head, his face stark and bone-white with fear.

Another heartbeat of silence. And then another, of a different quality. Cas suddenly lost the human rage, the grief and anguish, lost the mask he wore so carefully. And Dean abruptly saw a Seraph dressed in human skin.

“He has given too much,” Castiel, the Angel of the Lord, said. “You will not take him from this life too. _Elasa Bolape Ge Aschaniis Emna. Niis Oi Aala, C Obelisong De Tibibipe. Par Bolape OZIEN!"*_

 

_* You are not welcome here. Leave this place, oh bringer of sorrow. He is mine_

* * *

Sam slept.

A strong, too-warm hand held his own. He squeezed the fingers, or thought he did.

He slept.

A familiar voice hummed an old hymn, a sound so pure it would have brought tears to Sam’s eyes, if his battered body had had any to shed.

He slept.

Soft lips kissed his forehead, a hand cupped his cheek. Words were whispered in his ear, in a familiar, husky voice, but Sam couldn’t make them out.

He slept.

He opened his eyes. An infinity of blue stared back at him, the all-seeing, all-knowing eyes of an Angel. A hand touched his hair, tucking a strand gently away from his face.

He slept.

 

The next time he woke his body felt strange, like it was trying to float… and then that feeling passed and instead he felt heavy, and vaguely _wrong_. He could feel Cas’s hand holding his, and hear voices.

“Cas, come on. You need a break. I’ll sit with him.” Dean’s voice. Sam tried to smile, and found he couldn’t.

“No,” Cas said, and the tense anger in that sound had all the hairs on Sam’s body standing up. Clearly Dean also felt the crackling power of that word, because he wisely shut up.

Sam tried to open his mouth again, and found that this time he could.

“Hi,” Sam said, or tried to. All that came out was a dry croak. Instantly he saw Cas’s hand in front of his face, and felt the angel take away his pain. He shuddered in relief, turning his head slightly so he could see Cas properly. It turned out he didn't have to move his head far, the angel was so close his nose was practically touching Sam's cheek .

“Cas?” Sam croaked, and Cas smiled, an anxious expression that made the hunter's mouth try to twitch into a wry grin. If the angel ever wanted to know what being human felt like, anxiety was a good start.

“Cas…” Sam continued, his muscles finally obeying enough to form a proper smile, “are you wearing a trench coat, _in bed?_ ”

In the background he heard Dean splutter with laughter, and then his brother was there, lifting him up and pressing a glass of water to his lips. Sam wanted to protest that he wasn’t a baby, he could hold his own damn cup, but when he tried to move his arms he found he couldn’t, and at the feeling of cool water on his lips he greedily opened his mouth and tried to drink the whole thing in one gulp.

Dean moved the cup away, and Sam protested feebly.

“Sammy, you gotta take it slowly,” Dean chided. “You’ll make yourself sick.”

Sam nodded grudgingly, and the cup was brought back. He took careful sips, despite his body screaming at him to just grab the cup and drink it all, and then go to the nearest lake and drink that too. Eventually he’d had enough, and lay back down, alarmed by how shaky and exhausted he was. He could feel Cas’s comforting presence beside him, still holding his hand, although the angel had been silent, allowing Sam this moment with his brother. Sam felt his heart swell with love and gratitude, and he squeezed the angel’s hand.

“How long?” he managed to ask.

“Almost a month,” Dean said, and Sam felt the bed dip as his brother sat down next to him. “Cas hasn’t left your side. And I mean that literally. He hasn’t moved from your sick bed for even a second. Despite my best efforts.”

“A _month?_ ” Sam gasped, shocked.

“Twenty-nine days, eight hours and sixteen minutes, actually,” Cas said gravely, and Sam turned his head, looking straight into the angel’s serious face, ruthlessly pushing down the laughter that bubbled up at his solemn announcement. Then the bed shook, and he felt more than heard Dean snort with laughter, and that was too much for Sam. He laughed until tears streamed down his face, and Dean doubled over, gasping for air. Cas sighed, exasperated, and it was such a human sound that it set the brothers off again.

Sam knew the laughter was more a release of tension, a way of letting out all the stress and horror of the past few months, rather than anything the angel had said, and he also knew from Cas’s small smile, and the way he gently squeezed his fingers, that the angel understood. He felt an obscure burst of pride at Cas’s ever-increasing ability to read his human friends.

Then Sam slept.

 

When he next opened his eyes long shadows were crawling across the room, it was late afternoon or evening, the same day or another, it was hard to know. He shifted, and felt Cas still stretched out beside him. Instinctively he turned and snuggled into the angel’s chest, seeking comfort. Cas’s arms came around him without hesitation, not at all like the early days, when Sam and Dean had had to teach the angel how, and _when_ , to return physical affection.

Cas’s strong arms held him in their protection, and Sam felt safe, and loved, and happy beyond his ability to comprehend. Eventually, though, he had to listen to the nagging voice at the back of his mind, the voice that insisted on reminding him how badly he’d been injured. Carefully he focused on the feel of his body, searching out the aches and pains, wincing with expected agony. When he didn’t feel anything other than a little sore and tired, as if he’d just been for a long run rather than being stabbed in the chest and stuck in bed for a month, he finally felt himself relax.

“I’m healed?” he asked softly.

“Hmm,” Cas said, noncommittally. “Mostly. For the first couple of weeks it was all I could do to keep your soul from fleeing. It wasn’t until the Reaper left that I even began to hope that you’d live. Once you fell into a natural sleep it became easier to heal you. But you’ll be weak for a while yet.”

Sam felt a sudden wetness on his hair, and realized with a start that the angel was crying. He shuffled up the bed until they were nose-to-nose, and looked into the tear-filmed eyes that he loved more than anything else in the world. Slowly he brought a hand up and wiped the tears away, leaning in and placing a soft, gentle kiss on the angel’s lips. Cas’s eyes fluttered closed, and as he rubbed the angel’s back in small, comforting circles Sam suddenly noticed, with amusement, that Cas was only wearing his shirt and pants - his shoes, coat and tie were gone- no doubt because of what Sam had said the last time he’d been conscious.

As Cas calmed under his touch, Sam took a moment to look around the room, getting his bearings. The first thing he noticed was the soft bed they lay on, it was so huge it was practically a room all by itself, and was piled high with plush pillows and comforters. Delicate, lacy curtains wafted gently in a cool afternoon breeze, and trees rustled soothingly outside the window. The room itself was all soft lines and neutral colors, and practically screamed ‘luxury’. Sam thought he could hear waves crashing on a nearby shore.

“Where are we, Cas?” Sam asked eventually, after taking a moment to just soak up the calm atmosphere of the space.

“Near the ocean. Bobby said that sea air was good for humans.”

“Where though, Cas?” Sam asked.

Cas looked confused. “Earth?” he said.

Sam gave up, realizing that of course man-made borders would mean nothing to the angel; it was only an eye-blink ago in the span of his immortal life that humans had started drawing lines on maps, and besides, he could go wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted.

Sam felt his mind reel, the way it always did when he tried to picture Cas’s life before they had met, and quickly shut away that line of thought, focusing instead only on the here and now.

Sam pulled back, looking the angel up and down. Without the trench coat it was easier to see the hard lines of Cas’s long, lean body, and Sam salivated over the tantalizing glimpses of skin where his shirt had rucked up from lying in bed. There was something about that rumpled white shirt, perhaps the fact that the normally impeccably-dressed angel had clearly stopped bothering with that part of his human facade, that Sam found almost unbearable sensual. On impulse he grabbed the arm that was resting on his side, rolling Cas’s sleeve up and running his hands across the angel’s warm skin, feeling the goosebumps rise in the wake of his trailing fingers.

“Sam?” Cas asked, suddenly sounding breathless. Sam looked up, then quickly down again, captivated this time by the small bit of skin he could see above the collar of Cas’s shirt. He reached out and undid a button, trailing his fingers lightly across the jut of a collarbone. Cas groaned as if Sam had been touching somewhere else entirely, and the hunter felt his body tighten in response, the sound bringing with it a surge of lust so strong he felt his vision haze, his world narrowing to the feeling of exposed skin under his hands.

Sam,” Cas said, catching his hand in his own. “This is just the delayed adrenaline rush from surviving. You should sleep, not exert yourself.”

“Been reading about human behavior, Cas?” Sam asked in amusement. The angel blushed, but still held Sam’s hand captive, much to the hunter’s frustration.

“Fine, I’ll be good,” Sam sighed. Cas started to relax, but the hunter only tightened his grip, smothering a grin.

“How about you touch _me_ instead? I'll just lie here, not exerting myself.”

The angel’s eyes narrowed, trying to fault the logic, and Sam bit his lip, thinking he could easily get lost in those pools of blue… if only his body didn’t urgently want more than the angel’s eyes on his skin. Carefully he rolled onto his back, pulling Cas by the hand he still clung to. Cas grudgingly allowed himself to be manipulated, rolling up onto an elbow to look down into his face.

After a moment the angel hesitantly reached out a hand, placing it on Sam’s chest, above his heart. Sam felt his heart speed up under his touch, and saw Cas’s eyes drift down to his chest in fascination. Everything about humans seemed to fascinate the angel, and Sam was more than willing to be experimented on, to be the one to teach the angel everything about humans. _Everything._

Then the angel’s fingers drifted slowly across to where a nipple showed clearly through the cotton of the shirt Sam was wearing, and, hesitantly, he brushed his fingers over the hard nub. Sam hissed, and Cas’s eyes darkened. The angel did it again, harder, and Sam squirmed, wanting more, but also not wanting to rush things, like they had in the motel room. Cas appeared to think for a moment, and then rucked Sam’s shirt up, which somehow seemed so much more intimate than if he’d just mojo’d Sam’s clothes away, like he had that first time.

Gently the angel continued to touch Sam, watching the hunter carefully all the time, cataloguing his reactions. Then, clearly remembering the last time they’d been together, he leaned down, and, pinning Sam with his gaze every second, ran his tongue across the hunter’s chest, his pink lips closing over a nipple. Sam went completely still, and felt a tell-tale tightening in his gut. Briefly he wondered if he was going to come completely untouched… what was it about the curious, lust-hazed gaze of his angel that could bring him to the brink with just a look and a caress?

Then Cas’s gaze left his own, and he saw the angel look down his body, to the source of his discomfort. The angel started to move his hand downward, but Sam captured it, holding it still. Cas looked up at him, still silent, the question in his gaze.

They stared at each other for a long moment, something that defied description passing silently between them.

“Kiss me first, Cas,” Sam whispered, finding his voice at last.

Cas smiled at that, leaning down to place his lips against the hunter’s. It was a clumsy kiss, Cas awkwardly, but determinedly, pressed his lips to Sam’s, and Sam felt frozen, unable for a second to think about anything except the soft, pink lips on his own, and the smell of the angel, an intoxicating, sea-spray scent that belonged to Cas alone. After several seconds of just savoring the contact Sam finally ran his tongue along the seam of Cas’s mouth, seeking entry. The angel parted his lips without hesitation, and Sam moved his arms around the angel’s back, pulling him closer, exploring his mouth with slow, lazy sweeps of his tongue. Cas made a soft noise that caused goosebumps to rise all over Sam’s body, melting into him as if he’d suddenly become boneless.

Then Cas reached up a hand, cupping the side of Sam’s face, and the hunter felt the change in the angel’s body, the glow of affection replaced by the fierceness of lust. After a few more moments Sam broke the kiss, gasping, and leaned back to see Cas looking at him with eyes so dark the hunter could see his flushed face reflected in them.

“Talk to me, Cas,” Sam said quietly. “Tell me what you need.”

Cas shook his head. “Not yet,” he said, hesitating, looking suddenly vulnerable. “I want… I haven’t finished watching you yet.”

Sam felt a dark thrill of anticipation, and, sure enough, Cas promptly resumed his exploration. Gently he drifted his hand down Sam’s body, trailing his fingertips over his sternum, across the muscles of his abdomen, and along the waistband of the hunter’s pants. Sam bit his lip, and shifted himself up on the pillows a bit further, not wanting to miss even a second of Cas’s gentle exploration. After a quick glance at Sam, obviously checking to make sure his patient wasn’t shifting about because of pain or discomfort, Cas’s hand drifted lower, his fingers tracing the outline of the hunter’s cock, which showed clearly through the thin cotton of his pants. Sam bit his cheek as hard as he could, only that sharp pain stopping the tide of desire from sweeping him away.

Finally Cas freed Sam’s by now rock-hard erection from the constraints of his clothes, and ran a careful hand up the shaft, quickly looking up at Sam to gauge the hunter’s reaction. Sam felt his legs start to shake and he gritted his teeth, clutching the sheets in his hands, trying to hold on.

“Harder, Cas,” Sam finally managed to gasp out, and the angel nodded, his own eyes wide with wonder, and expectation, and desire. He took a firmer grasp on Sam’s cock, then seemed to think of something. Quickly he reached down and freed himself from the constraints of his own clothes. Sam watched with eyes that felt like they were going to pop out of their sockets as Cas ran his hand along the length of his own erection, first gently, then firmer, obviously trying to work out what felt best. After a couple of moments he reached back over to the hunter and wrapped his elegant fingers around Sam’s length, firmer than before, looking up at Sam for reassurance.

“Better?” Cas asked, his normally smooth voice rough with desire.

“Oh, _fuck_ , yes!” Sam groaned. “Cas, baby, _angel_ , don’t… don’t stop…”

And then Sam was so overwhelmed he couldn’t respond, his control over his body slipping with every passing second. Cas frowned, then brought his hand back to himself, obviously trying to figure out what he was doing wrong. But the sight of Cas touching himself was far too much for the already overwhelmed hunter, and he promptly had the most bone-melting orgasm of his life.  

The feeling of hot, sticky heat was gone as soon as he felt it on his skin; Cas clearly wanted to make sure his patient didn’t suffer even a moment of discomfort. When Sam eventually looked up, breathless, Cas had a proud, smug look on his face that made the hunter smile with amusement and affection.

“Good?” the angel asked, his voice innocent, but a wicked twinkle lurking in his eyes, which was such a new expression Sam found himself grinning. His angel was definitely a fast learner.

“‘Good’ doesn’t even begin to cover it, love,” Sam murmured, leaning across to kiss his angel again. This kiss also started slowly, but turned hot and breathless even faster than the last one had. Sam felt Cas reaching down to touch himself again, and grabbed the angel’s hands.

“My turn, sweetheart,” he said, grinning at the look on Cas’s face.

* * *

The last month had been difficult for Cas, in more ways than one. The angel quickly discovered he wasn’t equipped for the depth of emotion thrust upon him, he hardly knew what to do, where to turn, and he found himself desperately wishing for the indifference that had come so easily to him in Heaven. Being among the humans had changed him, their ability to feel such depths of joy and pain, which had at first amazed the angel, now terrified him as he began to experience those extremes for himself. For the first time Cas found himself wishing he could sleep... except that would have meant taking his eyes from Sam’s face, and, irrationally, he found himself believing that the instant he looked away Sam’s soul would leave, and he’d be alone again.

He’d heard a human’s life referred to as a candle flame, but that didn’t sit right with Cas. Their capacity for emotion, coupled with a life that was as intense as it was brief, made them seem more like suns, or even like whole galaxies of suns, blazing, beautiful, complex, ending in brilliant supernovas that blew apart everyone around them.

Cas was like the planet drawn to Sam’s sun, growing cold and empty as Sam’s fire flickered and dimmed. He’d held on, held on to that flicker with a determination that only an immortal, someone… _something_ … with the patience to watch centuries pass by, could. He didn’t need to sleep, didn’t need to eat, didn’t need to breathe, so he just stayed by Sam’s side, his hand on his heart, keeping his soul tethered, feeling his spirits rise with every heartbeat, and tremble and falter with every momentary pause between, the lingering power of the angel blade fighting his efforts every step of the way.

But now Cas found himself at the other end of the spectrum of emotion, tossed around as if in a whirlwind. He found he wanted to know everything about Sam, to know every inch of his body as intimately as he knew his own vessel. More so. Internally he chided himself for sapping Sam’s already waning strength further, but he found he couldn’t stop touching the hunter, would never want to stop touching him. He itched to be even closer, as if being skin to skin was somehow not enough.

But more than that, he wanted to please Sam, to make him feel good, to watch his face as his wrung every sensation from his body, to feel that intense hum of connection he’d first felt the day Sam had touched his hand in that motel room. A feeling that went beyond mere sensation, as if Cas had tuned himself to Sam’s frequency, and they now resonated in harmony.

He hadn’t thought about bringing pleasure to himself; even now he still sometimes forgot his vessel was human, and could be just as covetous of sensation as any other human body was. But when Sam kissed him, and then carefully, tenderly, arranged him into a position more comfortable for both of them, the angel found all he could think about was the tension in his vessel, and the look in Sam’s eyes. Nothing, _nothing_ in his long, long, life compared to the feeling of Sam’s touch, or to the glow of care and devotion that was as warm on his skin as any fire.

And then, ever so slowly, Sam bent his head, and took him into his mouth. The feeling that shot through Cas at the sensation of wet heat was almost more than he could stand. He felt himself shivering all over, and not just from the physical sensations. There was something astonishingly hypnotic in watching Sam’s lips move up and down his vessel’s erection, at the flash of pink as the hunter pulled back and licked his way up his length, swirling his tongue around the head before slowly engulfing him again. Cas felt his hips buck, completely involuntarily, his body instinctively trying to follow the sublime pressure of Sam's mouth. The hunter quickly placed a calming, yet commanding, hand on his hip, and Cas, with an effort of will that almost floored him, savagely wrested a modicum of control back over his vessel. But then Sam hummed his approval, and hollowed his cheeks, and the angel felt his control slip instantly. An indescribable feeling started to sweep over him, a pleasure so profound it was almost painful. He reached out a hand, whether to touch Sam, or to plead with him, or just in reaction, Cas didn’t know, nor did he care.

“ _Sam_ …” he hissed, completely unable to form any more words.

And Sam looked up. The intense, fervent desire in the hunter’s eyes was the last straw for the angel. For only the second time in his long millennia Cas came undone under his lover’s touch, and again felt the world fall apart and remake itself around him.

When he came back to himself Sam was next to him again, his face pressed against his neck. Cas lifted a hand, then dropped it again with a sigh of bliss.

“Ok, sweetheart?” Sam whispered. The feeling of the hunter’s body pressed up against his own, and his hot breath on his neck, made the angel realise that at some point he had used his Grace to displace their clothes, or blast them into atoms. He hadn’t even noticed doing it.

He glanced down at where their bodies touched, and immediately felt his cock stir back to life.

* * *

Sam grinned he watched the angel’s body recover from their activities almost instantaneously, not sure whether to feel smug or alarmed.

“Already, angel?” he laughed. “I’m not sure I can keep up!”

Cas turned his head, pressed a gentle kiss to Sam’s hair, and put a hand on his hip. The hunter gasped as languid contentment was replaced by a familiar tension.

“Ok, being with an angel is officially the greatest,” Sam smirked, pulling back, and gazing into Cas’s eyes. He reached up to push an annoying strand of hair out of his eyes, but as soon as he touched it he pulled his hand back, disgusted.

 “Ick,” he said, looking at the grease on his fingers in distaste. He wrinkled his nose and looked at the angel.

“Cas, why didn’t you tell me my hair was so filthy? I need to have a shower before we do anything else.”

His mind made up, Sam rolled to the side, and, with a stab of alarm, found himself falling off the side of the bed, his arms and legs suddenly heavy and uncooperative. But Cas was there instantly, holding him, sitting him upright.

“Ok, Sam,” Cas said gently, “but you’re still weak. You have to take it slowly. No sudden moves.”

Sam nodded, his heart beating crazily in his chest, feeling suddenly vulnerable.

“Help me up, please, Cas,” he asked after a long moment, holding out an arm. Cas took it, and suddenly they were in the bathroom.

“I could’ve walked!” Sam sniped grumpily.

“Of course, Sam,” Cas said, with a sideways look that just as clearly said ‘no, you couldn’t’.

After a taking a moment to re-orient himself after the abrupt change in location, Sam reached out to turn on the shower, but then caught sight of the enormous, glorious spa bath in the corner.

“Oooh,” Sam breathed. “Screw the shower. I want _that!”_ He took another long look around the magnificent, luxuriously appointed bathroom, at the gleaming fittings and cool marble tiles, and frowned. “Cas, where _are_ we?”

“In the bathroom,” Cas said patiently. Sam snickered, and would have pressed the point, but his brain felt like fuzz, making the whole conversation seem like too much effort. Feeling himself start to wobble again he quickly sat on the edge of the tub, stroking the taps lovingly before turning them on, making sure the temperature was just right, enjoying the feeling of steam filling the air. After a minute of watching the water rise, he swung his feet over the side and lowered himself gently into the bath, the pleasure of the hot water on his grimy skin an almost sensual experience. After a second he looked over at Cas, who was standing by the doorway, clearly waiting for him to finish whatever strange human ritual this was. Sam smiled, and beckoned the angel over.

"Come on in, Cas, there’s heaps of room. The tub is enormous.”

Cas hesitantly walked over, and Sam watched, amused, as the angel gingerly climbed into the tub, his expression a mixture of surprise and pleasure as he lowered himself into the water.

“Feels nice, doesn’t it?” Sam said in satisfaction.

“Yes,” Cas replied. Sam lifted an eyebrow, and Cas smiled.

“Very nice?” he tried, and Sam nodded approval. He reached for the shampoo, and poured some in his hands, but when he tried to lift his arms up to rub it in, he found he couldn’t move them high enough without considerable pain.

After a second of thought he grabbed Cas’s hand, and poured the shampoo into it instead. The angel looked at his shampoo-covered hand, and back up at Sam with an almost comical expression of confusion. Sam bit back a grin.

“You’ll have to wash my hair, Cas,” he said instead, splashing and turning so he was sitting between the angel's legs, even more pleased to discover that the bath had plenty of maneuvering room. He felt Cas hesitate, and then touch his hair with the shampoo, running his hand in a smooth motion over Sam’s scalp.

“You have to muss up my hair, get the shampoo all the way through,” Sam instructed. Cas rubbed gingerly at the hunter's scalp and he grinned, reaching back to grab Cas's hand and pull it in front of his body.

“Like this, Cas,” Sam said, making scritching motions with his fingers on the angel’s arm. Cas shivered, and Sam felt his body stir, discovering yet again how deeply sensitive to even simple human touches the angel was. Then he put that thought firmly out of his mind.

Hair first, sex later.

Cas slowly, hesitantly, did as he was asked, slowly growing more confident as Sam made pleased, contented noises. Soon he was rubbing Sam’s hair vigorously, his fingers occasionally trailing teasingly across the hunter’s neck. Sam shivered in pleasure, and felt his softening cock grow hard again. After a few more moments he pushed backwards against the angel, pleased to note that he was hard again too. As Cas’s erection rubbed up against his spine the angel hissed, tightening his fingers in Sam's hair, a warning pull just the right side of pain. Sam blew out a shuddering breath, then deliberately repeated the movement, feeling Cas tense even further. That was too much for the hunter, his body deciding it wanted to touch the angel, right _now_.

Sam quickly pulled away, putting his head under the water, rinsing the soap off, before turning around and fitting himself to the angel, his mouth hard on Cas’s own, his cock rubbing teasingly against Cas’s, caught between the movement of their bodies. As the angel groaned aloud Sam calmed the kiss, making it gentle, loving, as he reached for a flannel and soap.

He pulled back, gazing at Cas’s dark eyes and kiss-swollen mouth, before using the flannel to wipe his face in a gentle caress. Cas closed his eyes, and Sam slowly, very slowly, ran the washcloth across his skin, down his arms, across his chest, and lower. The angel jumping in surprise when Sam ran a teasing hand up the length of his cock, then settled as Sam did nothing more than continue to gently, almost worshipfully, wash his body. The hunter took his time, marveling at the angel's lean, hard muscles, his long, elegant limbs, and the ivory skin that almost seemed luminous, as if lit by an inner fire.

When he was done Cas seemed almost shell-shocked, a look of wonder on his face that took Sam’s breath away.

Silently he reached out, taking the flannel from Sam, and repeated the actions on the hunter’s own skin, the feeling of hot cloth wielded by the angel an almost unbearable pleasure. As Cas carefully ran his fingers over the new scar on Sam’s chest, taking away his pain, the hunter found he couldn’t take his eyes from the angel’s face, at the intent look of concentration - and love?- that was as captivating as a sunrise. Then Cas gently brushed his aching erection, and Sam jumped, feeling his whole body twitch in response. The angel let out a shuddering breath, and Sam smiled, then suddenly shivered. They’d been so wrapped up in each other neither had noticed the water growing cold.

Immediately Cas had them out of the water, wrapping Sam in a fluffy towel, drying his skin as gently as he’d washed it only moments earlier. Sam noticed with amusement that the angel was already dry. Apparently he preferred to dry Sam with his hands rather than his Grace, and the hunter found himself touched by the gesture, that sort of simple intimacy didn’t come naturally to the angel, and the effort he was making to comfort Sam was as obvious as it was endearing.

And then they were back in bed, as quickly as they had left it. After being touched constantly by Castiel Sam was absolutely rock hard, and he reached for the angel immediately.

* * *

As Sam reached for him, a look in his eyes that the angel could now read as easily as an open book, he caught the hunter’s hand.

“I still think you shouldn’t be exerting yourself,” Cas said, trying for, and failing to achieve, a strict tone.

“Mmm, I agree with you,” Sam said mischievously. Cas felt vaguely disappointed, and reminded himself sternly that they had all the time in the world to explore each other when Sam recovered. And then he stopped thinking anything, because Sam leaned over, captured his mouth with his own, and rolled onto his back, pulling Cas with him. The angel was so lost in the feeling of Sam’s tongue entwined with his own that he gasped in surprise when Sam gently grabbed his cock, and guided it between his legs.

“Sam…” Cas whispered, stilling instantly.

“It’s ok, baby, I want this… I want you. If… if you’ll have me?” The look on Sam’s face nearly caused the angel’s heart to explode, and he nodded, suddenly lost for words. Then Sam coughed, and looked embarrassed, and Cas reached out a hand, instinctively trying to smooth the perpetual worry lines from his face.     

“I’m assuming you can… you know. Do your angel thing,” Sam muttered, getting redder and more uncomfortable looking by the second. “I mean, I don’t think I’m in any position to go out and buy lube right now.”

Cas grinned. “I can definitely do my ‘angel thing’,” he said, feeling laughter bubble up inside. The feeling took him by surprise. Was this joy?

And then Sam took him in hand again, guiding him into him, the angel instinctively making the passage easier, and nothing mattered anymore, except the feeling of his beloved Sam, around him, under him, as close as two living beings could be. And closer, if Cas had any say in it. Which, of course, he did.

* * *

Sam guided Cas into him, wincing with expected discomfort, surprised when there wasn’t any, despite the discussion they’d just had on that very subject. Cas stayed still, not moving, filling him, staring at him with wide, surprised eyes. Sam shifted his hips, silently urging Cas to move, but the angel stayed still as a statue, his cerulean eyes boring into Sam’s own, his pink lips lightly parted, a flush of red showing under the perpetual stubble of his jaw. Sam caught his breath.

“ _So beautiful, Cas_ ,” he thought. Cas blinked then, a slow, shy smile spreading across his face, and Sam wondered if he’d prayed by accident.

“Yes,” Cas said softy, and Sam blushed, then smiled back at the angel, amazed that a being who could answer prayers was here, with him. The Boy with the Demon Blood, who had done such monstrous, unforgivable things. The Abomination.

“ _Cas_ ,” Sam whispered in his mind. The angel tilted his head to the side, and Sam smiled inwardly. “ _Move_ ,” he silently urged the angel. Sam felt Cas then, touching his mind, a sensation even more intimate than the feeling of the angel buried deep inside his body.

And Cas moved. Sam could still feel the angel touching his thoughts gently, feeling his feelings, discovering what felt good and what didn’t.

“ _Cheater_ ,” Sam teased, and Cas huffed out a breathless laugh. The sound of the angel laughing, the feeling of him moving inside him, filled Sam with such joy he wondered if he’d actually died and gone to Heaven.

“Sam…” Cas breathed, and the hunter gasped as the angel changed angle, hitting his prostate just right. Then Cas kissed him, and Sam felt his body react to that more than anything else that was happening, feeling Cas’s surprised smile against his mouth. The hunter ran his hands urgently up and down the angel's arms, urging him on, before reaching between them, his fingers brushing where they joined, the place where they stopped being two halves, and became one whole.

Cas moaned, a deep, throaty moan that nearly undid the hunter.

“Ok, baby?” Sam whispered, trying to focus, trying to make Cas’s first time the best that he could, trying to say everything he was feeling with the movements of his body.

“Sam…” Cas moaned again, his eyelids fluttering, his face an expression of stunned bliss. “It feels… it _feels_ …”

“I know, sweetheart,” Sam whispered. The angel’s hips stuttered and Sam caught his breath as Cas bit his lip in concentration, briefly wondering if anyone had ever been so filled with lust that they died on the spot.

“That’s it Cas,” Sam whispered encouragingly, “You’re so beautiful, so perfect. Don’t stop… don’t ever stop…” He leaned up, capturing the angel’s mouth with his own.

 Cas immediately deepened the kiss, but Sam broke away suddenly, unable to stand the other, unspoken, words any longer.

“Cas,” he gasped. Cas looked at him, his head tilted to the side, an expression of anticipation and concentration on his face. Sam steeled himself.

“Castiel,” he started again. Cas drew in a breath sharply, and Sam smiled inwardly. He’d already figured out that the angel liked it when Sam used his full name, and Sam determined to use it only when they were together, a special thing.

Then he pulled his thoughts back, readying himself to say the words he’d wanted to say for what seemed like his whole life, the words that he’d repeated like a mantra even in the depths of the Cage.

“Castiel, I love you,” he whispered.

_Castiel, I love you_

“You’re everything to me.”

_You are my whole world_

“Take me… I’m yours. Everything I am. Take it all. I give it you.”

_I am yours, now and forever, Castiel, my love_

 

The expression that crossed Cas’s face was nothing Sam could name. It wasn’t an emotion the way a human would have an emotion, it was as if Sam had touched the very core of who Cas was, and, surprised, he noticed the angel begin to glow. And then he closed his eyes, because the glow turned into the burning fire of a thousand suns, and he briefly heard the susurrus of feathers, before his senses were overwhelmed by the most intense orgasm of his life.

 

As they lay together, basking in the afterglow, Cas whispered to him, stroking his hair. Sam didn’t recognize the words, but he recognized the language. Enochian.

“What does that mean?” he whispered.

Cas was silent for a moment. “There’s no real translation,” he said, softly. “It means… _ego diliget te usque in sempiternum._ No, that’s not right. Your human language is so clumsy.”

“I don’t speak Latin either, Cas,” Sam smiled, but he did, a little. All the hunters did, so many of the techniques they used to trap demons involved ancient languages. He thought he knew what the angel was trying to say, and felt his mouth go dry.

Cas was silent for a moment. “It means… ‘I will cherish you for eternity’,” he said at last.

“Castiel…” Sam breathed. Overcome, he felt tears prick behind his eyes. “I wish I could speak your language. I wish I could tell you how much I love you. Because you’re right, there aren’t words. Except… I love you. _I love you!_ Sweetheart, angel, I will love you until the day I die.”

“Only until then?” Cas asked, his voice a strange mixture of teasing and anxiety.

“I won’t live forever, like you Cas,” Sam said sadly, a niggling fear that had been hiding in the back of his mind coming to the fore. “One day I’ll die, and you’ll have to go on without me.”

“Why?” Cas asked, now sounding genuinely hurt.

“Why will I die?” Sam asked, confused. “Because, well, I’m human. We all die. We can’t be together forever. If we could, I would be with you until the end of time. Nothing will ever dim my love for you. But you are forever. I am temporary.”

“But we _can_ be together forever. I am eternal, but my vessel isn’t. Just as your soul is, and your body isn’t. The death of your physical body, or the destruction of my vessel, will only be an event in our lives together, like this day is.”

Sam blew out a breath, that information more than a human mind was capable of absorbing.

“Then, why were you so desperate to keep me alive?” Sam asked, grabbing on to something he could ask, something he could understand.

Cas’s eyes slid warily from Sam’s, and he swallowed anxiously.

“This time it was because you still have a life to lead, a life that shouldn’t be cut short because of me. But the first time… well,” Cas said, twisting his fingers nervously in Sam’s hair, “your soul… too much of it belonged to Lucifer. It felt… it sounded… hell-bound.”

Sam shuddered. The thought of going back to that place caused his body to break out in a cold sweat, and his heart to thump crazily in his chest. There was nothing Sam feared more, and he suddenly realised how much of a debt he owed the angel.

“Cas…” he started, struggling to find the words. “Cas, I owe you… everything. You rescued me from the Cage, and you saved my soul. Despite everything I did to you.”

Cas looked at him oddly. “Sam… you gave your life for mine. You saved your own soul.”

Sam went still, then sighed, feeling something sweep over him, something like hope, something like faith, something like _absolution_. He snuggled up next to the angel, feeling his lover’s comforting arms come around him, like coming home.

“ _You_ are my soul, Cas,” Sam whispered eventually.

He felt Castiel smile.

“And you are my Heaven,” the angel whispered back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you I’d make it up to them! Ok, so, that’s all she wrote. Thanks so much again for sticking with me, and for your kudos and comments along the way, I know it was a rough ride. I hope you enjoyed it. I love you guys! *hugs *  
> P.S. I’m sorry if I butchered the Enochian and Latin!


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